I’d often walk around my apartment complex deciding if I’d kill myself that day or not. It’s disconcerting—to the pessimist— how many damned inspiring things pop up. Not just like—sure. I liked hearing the birds. A mixed bag of trills, coos and road noise. A kid honking from their bedroom window, learning the same trumpet I used to try to toot. Laughter splashing from the pool area absolutely draped in sunscreen and arm floaties. Sharpened knife in my pocket—I could always claim I had it for self-defense should any guard ask. I used to actively attack myself and I called it fun. I called it sport. But I never was great at sports. Despite my best efforts I’d end up distracted by something as simple as pollen flitting in a beam of sunlight like fireflies or embers or something else— and I couldn’t look away until I could name it.
Zebulon Huset is a teacher, writer and photographer living in San Diego. His writing has recently appeared in Meridian, The Southern Review, Fence, Rosebud, Atlanta Review, and Texas Review among others. He publishes a writing prompt blog Notebooking Daily and is the editor of the journal Coastal Shelf.
