Day 10: Let the Creativity Begin!

(This next bit is actually the beginning of a story idea I came up with. Whether it turns out to be anything, we shall see, but I'll tag anything related to this storyline as "story1". And I know it's technically Jan. 11, but meh--my brain's still in Jan. 10 mode. So, enjoy!)

     They say that you should never start a story with the beginning of the day, they being the almighty writers of pieces past. However, Helen Saunders’s particular tale begins precisely then. At least, the part of her life where things became interesting enough to write down. So that’s when you and I, reader, will begin. Who am I, you ask? I can’t tell you that at this moment, but you will discover in time. I promise.

    What I can tell you is more about Helen's life before that morning. To be fair, there really isn't much to tell. She was an only child of Greta and Edwin Saunders, a couple that met later in life who lived in a small, western Virginia town. Both were quiet and kept to themselves often, translating to Helen becoming the same way. She had acquaintances more often than friends, though they all lost touch eventually. Helen did well in school, but not enough to really stand out. She got into Sweet Briar, her mother’s alma mater, and majored in history. She applied for and got a job working in a local history museum near Charlotte, North Carolina—it was the most adventurous thing she’d ever done. After that, the highlights of her life include working her way up to running the museum, her father passing away from lung cancer, and adopting Thomas, a black-and-white cat from the local shelter.

            By the time she was 43, Helen had resigned herself to a life spent mostly alone. She would call her mother once a week—every Sunday afternoon at 4 o’clock—to a call that rarely lasted more than 20 minutes. She would then take her weekly grocery store trip, with a list in hand, though she didn’t restrict herself to it. The Sunday night before her story began, her main concern was her considering on getting a second cat as a playmate for Thomas (her mother was equally for and against the idea). She turned on the kettle, made herself a cup of Earl Grey, and curled up under an afghan, reading The Tenant of Wildfell Hall. After finishing at least 20 pages, she made her way to her bedroom, changed into her pajamas, and put herself to bed at roughly 9:30 p.m.

            Now, loyal reader, we have returned to the true beginning of the story. It was a Monday morning, one that turned out to be much better than your average Monday. Helen’s story begins here, because as her alarm rang that morning at 5:45 a.m., it interrupted the most vivid dream of Helen’s life. She awoke with a start, and was confused by her dream’s contents. It was so strange, that she decided to write them down. She found a journal on the bookshelf in her room, one of many gifts from family and colleagues that she had never had use for.

 Dream—April 26th
Was 24 years old again. Was at parents’ house, visiting, when a car drove up. Nathan (from high school?) got out. Was excited about seeing him, and ran down the front steps. He lifted me up and twirled me around. We kissed(?) and hugged. We went inside and talked with my parents about Nathan working for the Navy (I think I remember Mother mentioning he was military). He stated he had gotten a permanent position working for the base in Norfolk. I was excited (apparently he had been stationed on the Pacific side before, though I don’t know how I knew that). He turned and said that now “everything was perfect”. He then knelt down and proposed, right there in the living room. I said yes (?) and we kissed and hugged again. As we were hugging my parents, alarm woke me up.

Helen laid the journal on her night stand, and began her morning routine, as usual. But on this morning, her mind was fully focused on what had happened during her dream.