Just another little ficlet to hang on to while you wait for January.
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A
Spectacular Nothing
His first attempt was brash, and
rather unplanned: a leap of faith, figuratively and yet quite literally. It
ended just as quickly as it had started and with just as much –or as little– to do. Finding himself
only slightly ruffled, he collected himself, shook off the minor damage, and retreated quickly. His stance at the base of the
gate was notably less regal this time. Regardless of the appearance, his
spirits suffered no immediate damage that might dissuade him.
His second and third attempts were
nearly as frivolous as the first, yielding no preferred variant in result. His
efforts on both such occasions were equally as unplanned. His retreat was less
eager, his attitude about the whole situation much less enthusiastic. However,
his steadfast determination solidified his decision not to relent. Taking a
moment in pensive silence, he furrowed his brow and set his mind to work. His
thoughts grew more frenzied and desperate as the moments ticked by. Composing
himself, he considered the feat a few moments more. And, in his opinion, with a
decidedly more planned approach, he
attempted twice more – each to a spectacular failure, and each seeming no less
like the first in either approach or consequence. In an absurd flourish of
flailing limbs and torn hopes and some minor
battle scars to prove it all, he slunk back, yet again, to the base of the
gate.
This time, he was determined. An air
of extreme concentration overtook him and affected him in the most inane manner;
once again, brow furrowed, jaw clenched, eyes scrunched, intently focused on
the target. It was a rather peculiar and ridiculous expression to be sure. One
certainly worthy of eliciting a chuckle, but then again, the whole ordeal was
that of a terrific spectacle. Almost assured, anyone who would find his facial
expression in the least bit humorous would let out a resounding laugh upon one
look at the entire act.
In one last desperate leap, composed
of all the courage and strength his small form could possibly muster, he
lunged. In the seconds it took, to him, the entire world seemed to stand
motionless in suspense of the outcome. His lunge embodied every childlike
ambition and blind hope he saddled it with. It was as if his entire future
rested on this final attempt. It was his
moment, and no matter how fleeting, he would live it with as much gusto as he
possibly could. His moment, though, promptly ended with as much to do as with
which it began. And to be entirely frank, there was hardly any to do at all. He
had made it, though. His eyes gleamed bright with jubilation and expectant of
praise. But no one was there to give it the pomp and circumstance he knew it deserved. He didn’t much care;
his own little victory was enough. So, with a light, elated step he made his
way over to the armchair. And –dug up from the new found confidence he’d
acquired– he leapt one final time, and settled himself comfortably on a throw
pillow.
In an hour everyone would be home.
He would hope they would realize his accomplishment. And he would be
disappointed when he would only receive a decent, but well deserved, scolding according to the usual tune of “Stay
off the chairs. Don’t go in there!” and whatever else he has heard a thousand
times. And he’d be ushered back onto the other side of the gate, his fantastic
efforts simply infinitesimal. In that fraction of a moment his triumph would become
nothing, just that, a spectacular
nothing.
“Would someone please feed the cat?”
he would hear, and, as if on cue, he would bolt back into action. After all,
there was food to be had.
