How many words is five thousand, anyway? What does that even look like? How many pages? How many paragraphs? How many sentences? What does five thousand words look like?
They said it had to be five thousand words long. That’s why I wonder. Five thousand. What does five thousand of anything look like?
What’s five thousand people look like? A section at a football stadium? The capacity of a crowded theater? A march for peace that gluts the streets and forces traffic to detour? A division of an army, marching to battle? What does it look like when five thousand people gather in one spot and just look at you, all at once? Is it as terrifying as I think it is?
What does five thousand animals look like? A herd of panicked gazelle loping across the plains? A massive pack of starving wolves on the hunt from deep in the forest? A swirling swarm of biting gnats that blocks the way no matter which way you turn? A gigantic hive of hornets six feet long and two wide? A great gathering of flocks on a pond, a plethora of wading birds, ducks, loons and other water fowl enjoying a noisy rest from their migration southward?
What does five thousand ships look like? A merchant fleet carrying goods around the world? An armada of warships on patrol? An invading force of space fighters newly birthed from an alien mother-ship, bent on conquest? The lifepods from a doomed starliner floating in the void, beeping with their own individual signal markers, hoping that someone will hear them and come get them?
How many words is five thousand? I have no idea. And, if I don’t know that, then maybe I’m not cut out for this writing class. I don’t know. An “easy A” isn’t sounding so easy, anymore.
Tales of a Tired Daddy 