February 16, 2010
Prompt: He didn't like being alone. Even more he didn't like being with people.
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He didn't like being alone. Even more he didn't like being with people. That's why he joined the Ashram. The peace of the ghost-like apparitions that floated into the prayer rooms, and the repetitive noise of the chant became his blood cursing, his heart pushing, his shadows. He was amid humanoid creatures with no faces, not really. He had nothing to give them and they expected nothing from him. In this way he existed for five years.
He lived at the Ashram and swept the floors, did menial chores which kept him near to, but never in the same room with the devotees, unless they were at prayer; even then he sat in the back, his knees outward, his head downcast. Their breath, their warmth, the fact that they inhaled, comforted him. He pledged a vow of silence, except his prayers. After five years he knew, this was how he was supposed to be, not real, not substantial. He pledged his life. A mote in the universe's travel.
--Mary Pauer, RBWG member
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She didn’t like being alone. Even more she didn't like being with people. She found comfort in her animals, a dog and a cat, and her books. She found pleasure in taking her dog for walks along the ocean. The sound of the waves rolling in and crashing on the shore forced her forget about herself. Seeing her dog’s joy at chasing gulls and pawing wildly at the sand brought a smile to her face.
But when she saw other women walking alone, sometimes with their dogs, her melancholy returned. These women, she imagined were just out for short walks, each would return home to find a husband or lover waiting for her, to ask about her walk, to ask if she might like to go out for a bite to eat, to stay with her through the evening, to be at her side in the morning.
No one would be waiting for her. She had known years of no one waiting. The emptiness of that feeling was like an open wound inside her heart. That feeling made her want to avoid being around other people.
When she returned home she made herself a cup of coffee and sat on her sofa. The cat jumped onto her lap and started purring. She chose a new book that came with good reviews and began reading.
--Alice Morris, RBWG member
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The girl acted shy and said nothing. He watched her from the couch while her mother babbled on and on. She pretended to do her homework but he knew she was looking at him under her long lashes. He liked what he saw and wanted to have her at his place. He didn’t like being alone, even more he didn’t like being with people, especially this kind of woman. She was trying to please him, trying to seduce him so he went along. The girl was shifting in her chair moving her body around; it got his attention. In a few minutes he would make his move. The old fat woman wouldn’t know what he was doing. “How about that cup of coffee you mentioned?” he said. She smiled showing a gold molar, got to her feet and scurried into the kitchen.
Now was his chance.
--Eileen Callan, RBWG member
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He didn’t like being alone. Even more he didn’t like being with people. Fear was with him all day and night. When he was alone, he imagined wild animals or awful men coming towards him. Especially after the sun went down. Especially after dark. His little three-year-old brother would offer to walk him up the stairs where the shadows were. They'd walk together until he was safe in the bright light of his bedroom. He would play alone with his cars or his Leggos while the other children rammed around downstairs. But it would get lonely and he would step outside his room and call over the banister, "Riley!" or "Carrie!" or "Jake!" hoping that one of them would come up and play, maybe not with him, but near him. Even if Carrie were in her bedroom across the hall with her door open playing with her dollhouse, he was not so lonely. People all the time were asking, "Why are you afraid?" "What are you afraid of?" "Why don't you like to be with everyone else?" "Why aren't you satisfied then when everyone goes away?" He didn't know. He was always uncomfortable. Everywhere. All the time. He didn't know why. RBWG member
--Sharon Lee Hoover, RBWB member
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Given the opportunity to change his life, he would have chosen to be a hermit. Though he had to admit the life of a hermit would be a challenge. While he didn't like being with people he was equally opposed to being alone.
It was a conundrum he had struggled with throughout his life. He had started life alone, so wrapped up in the composing of music, rhyming of words, and sculpting of stone that he had no time for others. Gradually he came to realize that he needed people with whom he could share his achievements. Yet when he surrounded himself with others he quickly found them to be so self centered as to be unable to appreciate his contributions to humanity.
--Bruce Krug, RBWG member
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He didn't like being alone. Even more he didn't like being with people. She thought about this as she stood across the room watching him. His posture leaning against the far wall said it all. With shoulders hunched, head tilted, and his eyes searching the floor, he was visibly, nervously uncomfortable. She wondered how he had lost so much confidence over the years.
He had been on the fast track. His lecture series on career advancement techniques had been taking off. He had 'finally' met the right girl, or so he had told everyone. And even his taste in clothes had improved beyond the wrinkled Dockers and tie-less button down that had become his trademark attire.
So what had happened? She had asked him that question countless times with getting not more than a sigh in return. Tonight though, seeing him so distraught, she felt the time had come for answers. Tonight she wouldn't let silence be the last word.
--Nancy Janssen (RBWG member)
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He didn't like being alone. Even more he didn’t like being with people. The problem with being alone was that he was thrown upon his own sparse emotional resources. A long evening alone could leave him feeling hollow. Being with other people taxed his emotional resources in another way: he had to pay attention to them; respond to their conversations and needs. In fact, he wasn't interested in other people. They bored and frightened him and the effort of the intercourse was far greater than his satisfaction. The only satisfactory outlets combined the ease of analgesia -- five dollar a gallon white wine, for the most part -- and something comforting on the screen or on paper. Sometimes his wife would growl to the children, "He thinks Jessica Fletcher is a real person."
--Tom Hoyer, RBWG member
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