7 Minutes

She gave us the structure, she told us the form, we listened to Bessie Smith as examples, we played a few 12 bar run-throughs in different keys. Then she gave us 7 minutes to write our own blues song. And we did it. Mine was kind of stupid, but it was worthy of 7 minutes of work. First song I ever wrote. Yea, me!

Please use the open space below to share your first 50 words on the topic “7 minutes.”

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Author: Virginia DeBolt

Writer and teacher who writes blogs about web education, writing practice, and pop culture.

6 thoughts on “7 Minutes”

  1. Mack was surprised how quickly he went down. It was a short but powerful uppercut that had him seeing stars, bars and birds. Now all he could do was wonder where he was, why he was there and what he was going to do next. “Five… six…”. Mack rose. “Seven…”

  2. Another 7 minutes for cake. Phone rings – it’s neighbour. Loves to talk. Never takes a hint. 6 minutes. Cake will burn. It’s his Birthday Cake. Must be right, mother-in-law will definitely comment. 4 minutes. Aaah! 1 minute. Hang up! Can’t – neighbour is my mother. Cake burns. I buy one instead.

  3. Was it only seven minutes ago? It felt like a lifetime since she heard the doctor tell her the results of the lab work on the specimen they’d taken from her breast only a few days ago. She sat in the uncomfortable chair opposite his desk as if coming out of a daze. She’d been stunned. She shook her head and blinked trying to hold back the tears. She asked, “Where do we go from here, Doctor?”

  4. I was in an all night flight and it was 7minutes to take off.
    What a lousy day I thought to myself. Everything that could go wrong went wrong. The past 3 days raced through my mind as I relived the trial. This was my first big story and I needed to get it right.

  5. One minute , the flames rose as the priest put in a generous ladleful of ghee into the sacrificial fire. There were men in kurta pyjama sitting next to the havan fire . The priest made them repeat after him, “for peace , for wealth , for sons “. Seriously , I came for this !! My doubts rise , as the spiralling thick smoke .

    Two minutes. A newly made friend comes and sits next to me . “A van has been organised to take the faithful to the pandal on Guru Nanak Mission Chowk , was I interested ?” She whispers loudly into my ears , above the pundit’s chants .She smelt of new handloom saree , fresh from the looms of Bengal , perfume , and ghee smoke .I say “No”. I too must have whispered loudly .She appears crest fallen .

    Three minutes . The slow moving fan on the ceiling makes things worse. It scatters the column of smoke . It curls up into the courtyard , where cooks from Bengal stand stirring pots of chhola dal with narkel , fried rice , and frying large platters of begoon and potol bhaja. The courtyard is blessed with a mesh covered roof . The smoke dissipates into the blue autumn sky , and they thank the Durga Ma. Stirring , frying .

    Four minutes . The kitchen hands are setting up folding tables and people are queueing up to take their places . I sigh . i wonder how long the havan is going to take ? I turn to my pretty , red and white and gold friend , and show her a whatsapp forward of a Durga Pandal in Delhi . She beams , a smile wrinkling her sindoor smeared face .She whispers , loudly “Forward it to me “.

    Five minutes . Medley of conch shells blow , ululations bring ladies to their feet , the smoke is rolling its choking tongue towards us . People step back . Cotton pallus cover eyes , mouth . I still donot have her phone number . First course , fried rice and dal has been served . A tall athletic man holding a basket of fried brinjals , salutes the Goddess with his basket and all , as he passes by . My new friend , having gone two paces ahead to do the “ululu”, leans her thin frame back and whispers hoarsely into my ear “My husband , swimming instructor ” , She gestures in the direction of the basket of fried brinjals . Someone has started beating a drum . An ancient tattoo. A white crest of feather shivers with each beat .

    Six minutes . The green lady has picked up a bell . A brass plate and a wooden hammer , that go bang , bang . My heart thumps . Probably in my mouth . The green lady is tall .Taller than most of us . She is gasping. Smoke inhalation . She makes a beeline for outside . I follow her .

    Seven Minutes . The crowd has thinned somewhat , thanks to the thick smoke . The green lady takes huge gulps of sweet fresh air . I do the same . Her hands are still automatically clanging the bell. We are outside the hall ,twenty feet from the Goddess. I touch her hand. She stops . Smiles sheepishly.

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