New prompt: Split second

Even the most bad-boned among us aren't rotten to their core.

So I’d started this day’s writing session reading Maggie Smith’s poem “Good Bones,” and Emily Simmer ended up following its echoes into her writing. I was so enraptured as she was reading her piece that I’d forgotten all about the prompt I’d given (this happens a lot), so when the phrase came in when it did, I had a happy little freakout (this happens a lot too). Of course she didn’t plan it … she just followed her pen to this most brilliant and beautiful place. I know, you can’t wait to read it now can you? Go for it.

Photo by D R on Unsplash

Split second

Emily Simmer

Respectfully, Maggie Smith, I take umbrage with your assessment that the world is “at least half terrible.” I live near Boston and remember that 2013 Patriots’ Day—a holiday we Bay Staters have always called “Marathon Monday”—when the bombs went off at the finish line my own cousin had crossed mere minutes before.

Two people conspired to set off explosives that day. Two. Sure, they were part of a larger network of ne’er-do-wellers, a network whose size and strength my privilege allows me to remain ignorant of. But most of the merrymakers in that crowd, there to celebrate endurance and dedication and perseverance, heard those pops and booms and immediately thought, “oh, no.” They thought first, very humanly, of their own safety. Then, as I did, of loved ones who may have been in harm’s way. But then, how many sprang into immediate action spurred by the automatic concern, “what about everyone else?” How many—without thinking twice—became instant, unintentional heroes?

That is a number I’d love to know. I probably never will, but in my little brain where I alone make the rules, I choose to believe that it far outnumbers the network of haters who set this destructive plot in motion. My internal realtor believes in our good bones and will sell them to myself, my kid, and any other prospective buyer who will listen.

There are more good bones than bad ones—exponentially more. I’d be so outrageous to posit that even the most bad-boned among us aren’t rotten to their core. Even they could stumble into redemption at any moment, if the sunlight struck them at just the right angle, at just the right split second.

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Now you!

Reflect on Em’s piece, on Maggie’s poem, or on the prompt itself. Write “Split second” at the top of the page and write for 8 minutes. So much can happen in the moments between moments, in the spaces between words on the page. Follow the seconds, the letters, your breaths, and see where you land. And please share whatever magic came through in the comments.

The magic is exponential when we do this in a group. No matter how much writing experience you have (including none), if you are at all intrigued, do come play with us at a Mini-Retreat. You will be amazed. Subscribers to 8-Minute Essays get their first one free.