“I’m Sick of Prose”

“I’m sick of prose.”

“What?” Ellie’s lips curled into a frown.

“I said,” I repeated, “I’m sick of prose! All this fancy language and nonsense is driving me insane!” Emphasizing my point, I shoved my laptop away from me, the empty screen crying out its neglect with insufferable blankness.

Ellie’s eyes widened, her silver-tongued mind struggling to comprehend that some of us can’t appreciate the nuances of English.

“You can’t be sick of prose! It’s the outlet of our minds, our way to illustrate the thoughts of others.” She paused, tapping her chin contemplatively. “In retrospect, you very well could have worded that more eloquently. Perhaps ‘I’m rather put out with frilly tongues and babble, these linguistics shall hurtle my conscience to the borders of mental health.’” Ellie finished with a self-satisfied grin.

Stupid Ellie. Always being so smart.

“That’s exactly what I mean!” I whined, tossing my hands into the air. “Can you even hear yourself? You speak like some dead poet from three-thousand years ago! Agh!”

Ellie perked up. “Are you in earnest? Oh, how marvelous! Akin to John Skelton, Edmund Spencer, oh!” A flush dusted her cheeks and dimpled. “Even Shakespeare himself?”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever.” I sank deep into my chair and reluctantly considered the empty page before me. To write or not to write, that is the question. Articulate sayings and words jumbled and clanked between my ears, trying, (and failing), to phrase themselves aesthetically. A throbbing headache ensued.

“I quit.”

Ellie looked up from her writing.

“You what?”

“I said, I quit! I’m done trying to sound smarter than I am. I will no longer slave under peer pressure! No more fancy writing!” I punched the table, causing Ellie’s tea to spill. She sputtered, providentially at a loss for words. Miracles happen every day, I thought.

“From this point onward, I will write in the laziest, cringiest, stupidest way I can!”

Ellie was stunned. Then Ellie frowned. Ellie was not happy. I was not happy, either. Ellie realized what had happened. She saw how the writing had changed. It didn’t sound nice. It sounded bad. And repetitive. And not nice. Almost redundant.

“Change it back!” She said.

“No,” I said.

“This is dreadful!” She said.

“I kinda like it,” I said.

Ellie was angry. She looked at the reader.

“Assist me! Hear my plea!” She said. “This fool is orchestrating a show of her ignorance, and causing undue harm! You must-”

“That’s enough,” I said, “I’m no longer writing down what you say.”

Ellie got even angrier. She kept talking, but no sound came out.

“You can’t just break fourth wall like that, Ellie,” I said, “It’s not good for prose. You and your stupid prose… You’re causing issues. I think I’m going to delete you.” Ellie paled. She clasped her hands together and silently begged. I am not amused.

Click click click

Now I am alone. It’s peaceful.

#prose #4thwall #fourthwall #thatescalated #trippy #homicide? #suspense #challenge