The Price Of Love

The ozone scent of the ocean reminds me how much I have sacrificed to be here: friends, family, home, heritage.

Was it worth it? Most days, yes, but on black days – every step painful – I find myself back before the water.

Mother warned me. But I knew better. “You don’t choose who you fall for.”

“Mark my words, no good came of such a union.”

I brushed it aside – another of her fables.

He is a devoted husband, but he cannot bridge the loneliness.

I lose myself in the roaring of the waves: a world I can no longer enter.

From Guest Contributor Iqbal Hussain

The Well-Tempered Clavier

Bach wrote a ton of beautiful music while he lived in Germany, or was it Poland? I’m not up on his heritage, though I wish I was. He was some kind of guy. Organs and harpsichords all over the place. Probably in the United States too, though now I think it’s mostly those big Steinways, and everyone knows they were the best for Vladimir. I mean the Vladimir who could actually play the piano. Not the Vladimir they have now, over there. The puppet master, the interloper, the one who poisons people. But what can we do? Bach is dead.

From Guest Contributor Linda Lowe

Linda wishes that the wind stop blowing.

The Affliction

The moment he was born, he'd immediately cursed at the affliction, causing the doctors to gasp, his mother to cry. The scientists argued whether he was a product of his environment, or his stars had preordained the shortcoming

His way of coping had always been to cover up who he was. Others accused him of turning his back on his heritage, of betraying his family, but they couldn't understand what it was like for him.

Finally, when he became CEO of his company, he accepted who he was. Perhaps it wasn't so bad being a white, protestant male after all.

The Daily Theme From Figment For March 30, 2012

After trying for years to change something about himself or herself, your character decides in an instant just to live with it.