Writing Prompt: Create a New Holiday and Write About It

7:09am

I picked the wrong socks today. They keep inching slowly down my calves, inevitably balling up around my ankles before the day is done. I’m sitting on the bus beside a new mother and her drooling baby. It’s cute. As baby’s go. But something about their absorbent stares, sucking in every aspect of the world and you along with it, just sets me off. Plus the drool. The morning commute as usual.

8:53am

The elevator is packed. Like sardines. Not in the way that people say, “packed in like sardines,” but actually packed like a case of small, dead fish. I have expect to see feet in the air, people catching on that more individuals will fit if they’re not placed head by head. Or at least a tail fin.

I’m early, so at least Mr. Prill won’t have tardiness as ammunition. If the elevator doesn’t break down, over the weight limits.

10:01am

The elevator didn’t break down. Here I am. At work.

12:30pm

Lunch would be great, if only everyone didn’t have lunch all at the same time. Yes, that’s an exaggeration. Someone’s got to be running the office. Maybe robots, or tiny men who could be stored in desk drawers and removed for lunch breaks. They would eat post-its and defective staples.

3:21pm

I hate board meetings.

4:02pm

This last hour is going to kill me. Literally. My soul will not survive this last hour in this building. Mourners will pile around my desk, shaking their head, and whispering to each other “If only it was nine to FOUR…”

5:00pm

I did not die at work today.

7:41pm

The bar is packed. Not quite like sardines, but only because there is a patio and people have piled out into the night. I snake my way to the bar and order my beer. I’m normally not that into beer, but since it’s the holiday.

A group at one of the tables in the middle calls me over. I pull out my chair and smile into their familiar faces. No gifts, no formalities. That’s what makes this my favorite holiday: it can be whatever you want it to. We share stories and share company. There’s no grand moment, no ball dropping or streamers screaming. Just a banner over the bar, pressed against the mirror behind it, reading:

“Happy Day of Imagination.”