i don't write fiction, just think it
07.15.05 // 3:14 p.m.

David (Phenom Feat) asked four questions. I answered the first last night.

His second question:

Have you ever written any fiction?

I don't write much fiction. I really don't know why, but I think it's mainly because I find starting difficult unless I have a good prompt. I think a lot of fiction. I make up stories in my head all the time, but I never write them down. Part of the reason most of what I write is non-fiction and autobiographical is because the only writing instruction I've ever had has been in academic writing (essay format) and in autobiographical writing.

I dug up the last piece of fiction I wrote in November. A friend gave me the prompt: eagle on a sundried cactus.


National symbols most people didn't assume that blanca was mexican. she didn't have the nopal en la frente and dark hair that shone like the feathers of an eagle. no, whites and mexicans always confused her pale skin, freckles and reddish-blonde hair as a sign that she was in or out of their group.

blanca didn't let it bug her too much. she took pride in the fact that at mexican restaurants, after she'd had a few cervezas and a couple of shots, she could sing with the mariachis. they were always surprised that she knew the words. when she took trips to her grandparent's house en la capital, she spoke perfect chilanga spanish. the cab drivers and shopkeepers who tried to overcharge were always amazed that she sounded just like them. the language and songs were just one thing, but blanca loved the fact that she had dual citizenship. that piece of paper proved what her skin, hair and freckles sought to disprove.

on one of her trips, blanca bought a small flag for 5 pesos. the street vendors were capitalizing on the upcoming fiestas patrias, and cheap flags were easy to find. she stuffed the small red-white-green flag in her backpack and forgot about it.

a few days later, she arrived in los angeles, her home. as she unpacked things in her room, she found the small flag in her backpack. rather than put it right next to her figurine of la virgen de guadalupe and makeshift altar of all things mexican, she took it out to her car.

blanca removed the small stick and added a string to hang the flag from the rearview mirror. she wasn't concerned about confirming any stereotypes... in fact, it would be different since she was always breaking them.

two days later, blanca sat in the driver seat with the keys in the ignition. she eyed the red, white and green flag. her gaze settled firmly on the eagle perched atop a nopal with a snake hanging from its mouth. rather than smile or reflect on her most recent trip, blanca began a tradition she'd continue before her morning commute for several years.

she looked at the flag, and let out a grito that sounded like it came from a man twice her size. ¡ajúaaaa!

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