A mundane writing project.

Crisps’ shrugged off the sleep from his face, well he would shrug if he was not paralyzed. He would also stretch if he could, but he has no control over his body. He sits or lays, where ever the master places him. He longs for the days of adventure, of long distance travels with all of his friends. Those are behind him, now he lives a solitary life, far from home.

The first rays of the sun are spilling in through the curtains, warming him slightly. Crisps’ has the feeling of being half full, like someone has ripped him apart, and grabbed pieces of his soul one by one. He fears eventually, he will be empty, used up and a fate unbeknownst to him awaits. Despite his colorful appearance, he is overwhelmed by the lack of any feelings.

Will Crisps’ remain out in the open room today? Or will he be locked away in the darkroom? Only time will tell for the bag of Green Pea Crisps that sits on my nightstand.

Photograph information. 

I saw this Mourning Dove when we visited the Manzanar Japanese Internment Camp in the Sierra Nevada’s of eastern California. The camp was host to 10,000 Japanese Americans. They had their lives ripped away from them, money gone, and business liquidated. They let them go after some time, others they had to force out. They were kicked out to strange lands not allowed to return to their former homes. I identify with this with my Choctaw Nation heritage. While not mundane, I do not believe the Mourning Dove appreciates the beauty. I believe the Mourning Dove finds it mundane When compared to eating and avoiding being eaten.