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.
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
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
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.
