Thanks, But I'll Sleep When I'm Dead

A gorgeous small European town. Fantastic Gothic cathedrals of old sepia stone. The nuns ask me where I'd like to sleep. I can have any room the village has to offer. I don't want a room though. I want my bed placed on the pillar in the middle of the square. I want to sleep perched high, overlooking the town.

Yes my dear.

Permission is granted, yet there is no way to carry my bed so high and balance it on this sky-brushing monolith.

I can carry it myself.

I strap the double mattress to myself and slowly, laboriously climb the pillar. When I get my bed to the top of the pillar I balance it carefully and lie down to sleep. I'm overwhelmed by the grandeur below and around me. To my left is the village's grand cathedral. The most stunning feature of which is a glorious clock protected by a stone man and a stone woman. They're spectacular. Though their faces are contorted with gargoyle-like expressions of joy.

Yes. Of course. Their expressions are exaggerated so that anyone looking up from below can see the divine love carved into their features.

I sleep the sleep of the dead and wake renewed.

It's time for sleep again. Now though, I'm terrified. What if the bed falls? What if I fall? How can I be so terrorized now when just last night I slept so soundly and fearlessly? I'm too close to the edge. Is the bed teetering? I need to move to the middle. Slowly, achingly slowly, I inch my way to the middle. Am I in the middle now? or too close to the other edge? I'm shaking and frozen with fear. I know I need to get down. But how? How do I get down safely knowing I have to bring my bed as well. Can I drop the bed without hurting anyone below? What am I going to do?

Then Bart and Bronwyn are with me. They're calm. I'm not. I move to the end of the bed and begin to lift the mattress. The base shifts and folds in on itself. By some miracle, I don't fall and the frame and mattress thunk back into place. I turn around.

Where's Bronwyn? Where's Bronwyn??!!!

I look over the edge and she's falling. Spiralling foot first down through what now is ancient wooden scaffolding. Her hands are clasped behind her back and she's looking up at me, only at me, crying. Bart leans over the edge of the bed and starts taking pictures.

What are you doing??!!

It's the last picture we'll have of her.

She hits the ground. I hear her head go thunk. My heart is shattered and I'm screaming. She opens her eyes and slaps her wide spread arms on the ground.

I wake up.

Define: Love

Here's the assignment: Write a 200-word essay defining love. No word can be more than one syllable. No sentence can be more than 10 words (contractions are considered one word). And no, absolutely no, cliches.

Lovehatehatelove

Love is plain. Love is good. Love is kind. Love is it, right? This is love? Love can fill the void? Do I feel love, or is it hate? Is this red, pink, rose, heart? Or black, broke, bleak, gray? Love's so great, it fills me up. Love's so sweet. Just like a cup, I spill over with your love. Oh crap! No! Wait! You're a creep. You stink, you suck. You treat me bad. You take my stuff. You drive my car. You use the gas. Do you fill that up?! No, you Shit, you don't. What??!! What did you say? You love me still? Oh, my sweet, I hate you too. Love, hate, love, hate. The same old song, the same old dance. Love, hate, hate, love. It doesn't fit me like a glove. It fits more like a fat yarn mitt. With lumps and frays and holes and damp. Yet still I wear it in the chill. Hate, love, love, hate, love, hate, love, hate. I want so bad to hope. I pray that love will win but then I know. My rose, pink, bleak, heart knows that all is one. Love, hate, love, hate, love, love, hate, lov'ate, lov'ate, lov'ate...........