Daffodils and dreams

Trifecta 95

This week’s word in the spotlight is rainbow. What a beautiful thing to write about but we have to use the third definition which is an illusory goal or dream. Much like the one I have about winning a Trifecta challenge.

RAINBOW (noun)

1:  an arc or circle that exhibits in concentric bands the colors of the spectrum and that is formed opposite the sun by the refraction and reflection of the sun's rays in raindrops, spray, or mist

2a :  a multicolored array

b :  a wide assortment or range rainbow of flavors>

3[from the impossibility of reaching the rainbow, at whose foot a pot of gold is said to be buried] :  an illusory goal or hope

- See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.VEr6XbWV.dpuf

There were days when she woke up and fear gripped her. But she dragged herself up and pushed on to the day care center. There were cranky colicky babies and tantrum throwing toddlers. Unlimited chaos. Havoc spewing monsters. She needed the money. She had come into the city with hopes of being a scriptwriter. She had huge volumes of her marvelous stories. Rejection after rejection piled up and started blocking her source of creativity. She began to feel numb and words stopped tumbling out of her soul.

Today was no different. Like a moving mannequin she walked towards Daffodils filled with cute looking imps. The huge yellow plastic blossoms seemed to mock her. We are more Daffodils than you are a writer. She turned her head away.

She always wanted to write a movie script. There was no doubt in her heart until now. Maybe I should go back to college and get some professional degree, she realized with a shudder. She shook it off and tried to breathe in some fresh morning air. Someone had puked in the front yard, she gasped. Placing her hand over her mouth to prevent herself from the same fate she ran inside.

 Hot tears stung her eyes. She started quivering with uncontrollable sobs. Everything she was so sure of started crumbling around her in that minute. I am not a writer. What would life be without passion, she agonized. Doing some job just to survive, to pay bills. All what she fought for was coming to naught. Fiery speeches she made about living true to your calling rose up like ghosts with a vengeance and tangoed around her.

Suddenly her phone jingled. Although she wanted to dash it on the wall with hideously painted daffodils, she answered it.

 “Miss. Thomas, I am calling from the YRH studios. We would like a meeting with you regarding a script you have presented.”

She was no longer chasing the rainbow.