The writing group I belong to was given a free-write prompt to write our own bucket list. I've never been one for those. Seems to me your dreams and wants should just spill out and around as time goes by, but this was my attempt at one.
I've never been good at following directions:
"I want to see a sunrise in each and every country, against every backdrop. I want to hear the sound of all the oceans, one by one. The Aegean will be peaceful, the Mediterranean will have a lilt to it. The Pacific will sound like an opera, the Atlantic like a rock concert. Each new body of water will sing to me. I want to see my husband's face light up at my arrival to a room. I want to be a writer, and a teacher, and a singer, and a reiki master, and a sketch artist, and an actor, and an absolute failure at something so that I can say 'But look at all the other things I do.'
And what of the bucket itself? What will I carry all these shiny list-items in? C'mon Laura, everyone knows that the bucket list is a list of all the things you want to do before you kick the bucket. Well I'm taking it a step further. I'm carrying around all the items IN a bucket. My bucket list will be carried, goddammit! It will be purple glass, the shade of purple that makes you smile startledly when the light hits it. And it's glass. Oh yes, it is glass; fragile and precious and to be handled delicately. Even though the shade of purple is practically brute in force, it is still a piece of glass. It is still so easily breakable that a gentle breeze could knock it to one side and destroy it.
Please be careful with my bucket and its list. For it resides inside me, just under my left rib."
