‘Genius in a Bottle’ Prompted Writing Challenge

Long Lives Lack Lustre

GiaB writing prompt #2–5

After a long life, they have paid the price to not suffer at the end.

My grandmother was a progressive woman in a developing island nation, during a backwards time. The education of women was not a priority for the community, or for women. It was for my grandmother. She wanted to go as far with it as she could and that was a ridiculous ambition for women at the time. She faced pressure from her family to desist. She faced objection from the community for dreaming. She faced them all with surety in herself.

Becoming the first woman to reach the heights of education in her community was not nearly enough for her. Neither was winning virtually every academic award and kudo available. When she graduated from school she promptly re-entered academia as an educator becoming one of the most influential educators in her country. She identified primary school as the stage where she could make the most lasting change and significant influence in a person’s academic life and devoted her whole life to the education of children at that age.

Today education principles and syllabuses she developed still form the basis of primary education principles in her country.

She was the sole reason why I tempered my boyish aversion to education and proceeded to walk the academic path with diligence. She was my grandmother. I am her grandson. Her eldest. I had a duty to be a product of her great influence in the field.

I was told by a principal that I might not complete high school, because I think differently. I reflected on that when I received my first post graduate degree from the University of Oxford, UK. And I reflected on something else. I requested an extra ticket to my graduation so my grandmother could join my parents, because I needed to see her in those hallowed halls. The University of Oxford not only provided the ticket but said they would be honoured to host an academic of her standing at the University’s most prestigious annual ceremony.

My grandmother was absent at my wedding. I had a photo of her there instead. She had passed a year and a half earlier.

She didn’t pass in her sleep. She didn’t slip away quietly. It took her years to die. And when her last breath left her lips, with her hands in her eldest daughter’s, my mother’s, she had been unable to eat, sip a teaspoon of water, or breathe without pain for weeks.

She had been coughing for years. Doctors and specialists could neither stop the cough, nor could they diagnose the condition. They skipped over the part where one would typically decide that letting an old woman cough in perpetuity was unacceptable and just let her cough. They let her do that until she developed pulmonary fibrosis. That means she coughed unceasingly for so long that the thin membranes that made up the pliable tissues of her lungs became inflamed. She coughed for so long that the body determined the trauma to the lung tissue to not be transitory but a constant assault that required a permanent fix. And like the formation of calluses on the soles of our feet which persistently abrade on the ground or in shoes, the body automatically responded by turning those soft, inflamed tissues into hard, inflexible ones. Once the lungs lose pliability they are unable to perform the inflation-deflation action required for respiration. Her lungs turned to stone and then stopped functioning as lungs.

She had never smoked any substance. She had never lived around smokers. She had not exposed herself to toxins in any way. Yet she lost her lungs all the same.

And by the time she passed away she wasn’t a candidate for a lung transplant as she was of advanced age with an older woman’s co-morbidities.

It bothers me to this day. Why did she have to suffer with terrible hunger, thirst, and fear of not being able to breathe? We all owe a death. I have no illusions about her immortality. Her time was up. She could have gone in her sleep however, next to her beloved crossword dictionary project on her bedside table. She could have gone when she had the stroke that she miraculously recovered fully from.

After all that she had achieved, after all she had given to others, after every happiness, joy, and inspiration she bequeathed her grandchildren for decades, why did she have to die in such an undignified and awful way?

Her golden years were turned to ashes.

It just doesn’t seem right.

The Challenge

We invite writers to produce a piece of poetry, fiction or non-fiction on the theme of The Elderly.

This prompt will close on 27th October, 2021 at 9:00AM PST/PDT. At which time, the next prompt will be released.

The Guidelines

We cannot publish pieces or reward writers who self publish or publish at another publication, so those pieces have to remain external to the challenge. Only pieces submitted to Genius in a Bottle will be considered for the challenge. If inviting other writers from outside the publication, please ensure they are aware of this.

Poetry is to be limited to 30 lines but can be in any style. Fiction and non-fiction submissions are to be capped at 750 words.

Please refer to the prompt in the subtitle. Feel free to copy this as a template: GiaB prompt # [insert prompt number and theme here].

When submitting, please ensure that one of the 5 tags is GiaBprompt. Please ensure a second tag is Poetry, fiction, or non-fiction, as appropriate.

We would like to become exposed to writers and pieces that you have enjoyed in all of Medium. Please tag up to ten writers whose pieces you have enjoyed recently, or who you feel may enjoy participating in this challenge.

For further information pertaining to the challenge, please refer to the rules and guidelines.

And away we go. We look forward to enjoying the paradise of the written word with you all.

Victor Sarkin

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