I walk through an ordinary parking lot. I’m thinking about what I have to do next, and after that, and after that. A cloud moves from across the sun and I see what might be a sleeping woman, a corpse, a ghost. In that moment, I am no longer living in the future. I don’t want to look too closely and invade the person’s world. I step back, get my cell camera ready, move forward and take a picture. Later, I’ll write about the still figure in the front seat of the pick-up truck. The story that emerges may be the truth. It may be a different form of the truth.
We live in a time and society in which mystery is dying. It may be our hard gift to preserve what un-knowing still survives. Without the unknown, we live in routine. Without the unknown, there is no exploration. Without the unknown, we humans might believe that we are deities. Every moment that a writer sits down with the blank page or computer screen and doesn’t use Google, is a moment filled with mystery.
Please write from the viewpoint of the yellow-skinned person with ragged black hair. Love to see what you find.
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