Playwright Story (Prompt: ______ Story)

I wanted to be a playwright,

as I fancied myself a modest god

who would make these players

do my bidding,

live out my revenge fantasies.

I aimed for

verisimilitude,

the illusion that it was

just like real life.

I wrote scenes of dialogue

and action

and characters

who all sounded like me,

but as a sheltered 16 year old,

I didn’t have enough material

to work with.

I’d create scenes,

situations,

snappy patter,

but I could never write

a proper end of a play,

and they would each limp

to their eventual final curtain.

Three years and

five plays later

I gave it up,

and went back to writing

songs

poems

jokes

temporary literary ephemera,

and I still watch

with palpable envy

and awe

when a writer pulls it all together

and finishes the story.

Now,

when I write “poetry”

when I am done with an idea

it just ends,

and I go on

to the next thing

just like real life.