Conflict
by
Michael Walker
January 2000
Who needs the conflict of outsiders, he
thinks to himself, or the artificial conflict imposed by imaginary social
entities? Sure, he thinks, as he lifts the now warm glass of flat diet
cola to his lips, society causes conflict. Big deal. So does any
relationship between himself and any other, human or otherwise.
When he sets it down, the glass containing
the soda leaves a ring of moisture on the wooden desk.
It’s all conflict or it causes conflict.
Watching and listening to an advertisement on the television, hearing his
mother prattle on about his father, the mere image and sound of rain
falling on the warm cement of a sidewalk. It all issues conflict; but none
of is as much as the conflict that he feels in his own soul when he thinks
of writing it all down.
Looking at the ring of water on his desk,
he thinks "Now there's conflict." And so is the wind brandishing
it's wings against the glass panes of my office, and so is the 100 mile
per hour smash of carbonated bubbles of soda against my tongue. And so is
the fact that every cell in my body is struggling to stay alive another
minute. It's all conflict and so what?
The smell of a burning fire wafts in
through the window, causing a mixture of feelings -- nostalgic memories of
a warm and fuzzy home he once saw on TV and the encroaching deadly cold of
winter.
His assignment is to write about conflict
and, as he tries, it makes his mind shut down and his body resist.
Something there is within me, he thinks, that loves a wall. Up to now, he
thinks, it has all been easy as pie. A scribble here and another there.
Now, they want blood and meat and brain caviar. You can call it by any
name you want, he smiles knowingly and bitterly, but it's still asking for
too much.
He glances to his left and sees his bird,
a cockatiel, picking at her food. For some reason, in his minds eye he
thinks of the mournful wail of a train in the Montana night. He passed
through Montana once on a trip cross-country and knows he will be forever
haunted by that sound. That, and the sound of a coyote howling against the
wind.
-- 30 --Back to
writings contents
Copyright © 2000 by Michael Walker
Michael Walker is a freelance writer in Washington, DC. He is also the founder
and proprietor of
DREAMWalker Group.
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