Dorothy Dauzart reached into the cupboard in the kitchen and removed a clean coffee mug. She dropped two tablespoons of raw sugar into it, then grabbed the handle of the freshly brewed pot of French Roast and poured the dark liquid on top of the sugar.
The usual morning ritual. Dorothy thought. How long had it been since she had spent a morning without a pot of coffee?
Maybe that could be a blog post…
She walked out of the kitchen while holding the hot mug loosely in her right hand and approached the glowing screen of the laptop computer that was patiently waiting for her in the living room.
Dorothy sat down in front of the computer and placed the coffee on the edge of the desk. She immediately took the machine online and clicked on the bookmarked tab for her blog. She took a few tentative sips of coffee while typing her password in with one finger and waiting for the website to load.
After much deliberation she had named the blog ‘DorothyDauzartTheUnknown.’ Certainly not the most original name for a blog, but all of the other names she had written down that night had seemed either silly or pretentious.
“What? Nothing?” Dorothy said. The site had finished loading and she was presented with a flat line graph for her daily stats. No new visitors.
I don’t understand, she thought. The post I made last night was one of my best ever. Not a single person has seen it?
She used the mouse to scroll down and looked at the post she had created the day before. It was short and sweet compared to many of the long, rambling pieces that she published on the blog.
‘No One Speaks the Truth‘ was the title at the top.
Ten short lines of writing were presented below the title:
“Let everyone beware of his neighbor,
and put no trust in any brother,
for every brother is a deceiver,
and every neighbor goes about as a slanderer.
Everyone deceives his neighbor,
and no one speaks the truth;
they have taught their tongue to speak lies;
they weary themselves committing iniquity.
Heaping oppression upon oppression,
and deceit upon deceit…”
Directly beneath those words she had uploaded a blurry black and white photograph of a man and woman arguing in front of a garbage dumpster. The man’s mouth was open, yelling at the woman. His eyes were little closed slits of anger and he was leaning in towards the woman with his index finger pointed directly at her face. The woman’s back was turned toward the camera, so it was impossible to make out her expression.
Dorothy had found the words for the post in the Bible [The book of Jeremiah, to be precise]. She had debated on whether or not to identify the quote as such, but had eventually decided not to do so.
The black and white photo had been captured with the camera on her cellphone a week ago. She had been running late to work and was racing across the parking lot behind the apartment building, moving toward her car. The couple that lived on the second floor had been arguing loudly in front of the dumpster. Something about rent and money and sex. The man was acting really aggressive and calling the woman many horrible things. Dorothy had pulled the cell from her purse and snapped the picture while moving [Which had caused the grainy, blurry look].
No visitors and no ‘likes‘ or comments. She groaned and took another sip of coffee.
Dorothy had been publishing one new post every single day for over a year now. The work presented was a blend of short stories, original photography, quotes from books and famous people, and a few free writing sessions that were more like journal entries than anything else.
A handful of people had stopped by here and there to check out her stuff. Two people had even left comments. One positive and the other negative. But, despite all of the time and effort spent, she still remained the same as when she had created the blog and published the very first post- Dorothy Dauzart, The Unknown.
She used the mouse to scroll further down on the screen, looking over some of the more recent posts:
Three days ago–
A long journal entry called “Drudgery.” It was about how much she hated her job, how it didn’t pay enough and how she constantly felt humiliated by both the customers and her coworkers. Many embarrassing details with a photograph of her name tag at the bottom.
Four days ago–
A dark short story called “Desperate Times” about a woman who had been out of work for so long that she was debating on suicide.
Seven days ago–
Two posts: The first was a short poem called “Skin,” about how much she longed to feel someone snuggling up next to her under the covers in the darkened bedroom again. The second was a photograph of a feral cat that prowled around her neighborhood. She had titled the photo “Undomesticated.”
Nine days ago–
“Detached“– An essay of sorts about loneliness, how she was surrounded by people in the city and had technology and social media integrated into her life- And yet still felt totally alone.
Eleven days ago–
The post was called “Absorbed” and it was a confession of sorts about her addiction to blogging.
Twenty days ago–
An untitled photograph of the new pair of shoes she had purchased while out shopping that weekend.
Dorothy scrolled back to the top of the page and clicked on “New Post.” She typed two words for the title:
She uploaded a black and white picture from her documents of a wilted flower leaning over onto a patch of dead grass. She clicked on “Photography” in the list of categories off on the edge of the screen and then typed in the usual list of tags.
Dorothy used the mouse to move the cursor over to “Publish” and clicked on it.
[Original writing & photography by J. E. Lattimer]
© 2012, 2013 J. E. Lattimer all rights reserved