This was a writing prompt. The assignment was to write a 600 word story. There were three options. 1. Write a story in three approximately equal sections about someone's life- youth, middle-age, old-age. 2. Write a story in three approximately equal sections where the same type of object e.g. a key is handed on to a new protagonist at the beginning of each section. 3. Write a story in three approximately equal sections, where each section begins with the same sentence e.g. It was snowing. I’m afraid God thinks I’m bad. Momma says I’m a good boy, but I wonder. At night we kneel together by my bed, saying prayers for God to protect us from the demon momma says dwells in daddy. She says God answers the prayers of the righteous and shields them from harm with His love. God never stops the demon, though. Maybe because I’m bad.
I’m not sure exactly what a demon is, but I know they’re very scary and mean. Daddy’s might live at Zellie’s pub, because it follows him home a lot when he drinks down there. I know when the demon’s got daddy. It has scary, dead eyes. Eyes that never stop watching, waiting for me or momma to make a mistake. The demon likes us scared. Momma and I are so careful when it’s around, but it always finds a reason to bash and bruise and break someone. Tonight, it was momma. I can hear her crying softly in her room. The demon hurt her real bad tonight. So bad that I shouted, “Be gone, demon!” It must have been surprised I could see it, because it stopped hurting momma when I shouted, and marched daddy out the front door into the night. I’m praying that daddy will come home alone, but I’m afraid, because maybe God thinks I’m bad. I’m afraid that I’m going to be really bad. Which is not ideal right now, with Sophie beside me hissing those ridiculous, shallow Lamaze breaths her mom taught her. I’m sure even Lamaze thinks those are pointless now, but she trusts her mom implicitly. Both of Sophie’s parents are great. Their love radiates like the sun upon everything in her life, including me. The preceding months have been a virtual whirlwind of in laws arriving and departing our home on baby related crusades. They adore us. Her folks are utterly convinced we’ll be great, happy parents. I’m not sure. While Sophie enfolds my forearm again in her iron grip, and pushes, I can’t stop thinking about my evil drunk father, who battered my mother into an early grave. That demon, who broke me in ways that cannot be healed with any cast. Who sure as shit taught me nothing about being a dad. What if that’s my twisted inheritance? Being a bad father. Really bad. Suddenly, everybody’s laughing and crying, and the doctor announces it’s a girl. He hands the baby to Sophie. Amelia has arrived in our lives. So tiny and beautiful. She’s perfect. I’m already hopelessly in love with her, and I can’t remember what I was afraid of. Before the doctor opened his mouth, I knew it would be bad. It was. Sophie and I had a good long cry in the car after leaving the office, and then we got down to business. Radiation and chemo. Surgery and more chemo. I knew in the end it would all lead to here. I’m lying in the bed I’ve shared with Sophie for fifty years now, which I will not leave again. Amelia sits beside me. Sophie and the grandchildren are making dinner. Amelia takes my hand and tearfully asks me if I’m afraid to die. I tell her about the first time I held her tiny hand, so many years ago. How her diminutive fingers grasped my pinky, and immediately her welfare became my life’s purpose. A purpose which turned even my hardest subsequent days into a gift. My family are happy, healthy and safe. I began my life in fear and pain. I’ll depart it surrounded by love. No, I’m not afraid.
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This was a writing prompt. The assignment was to write a 600 word story. There were three options. 1. Write a story in three approximately equal sections about someone's life- youth, middle-age, old-age. 2. Write a story in three approximately equal sections where the same type of object e.g. a key is handed on to a new protagonist at the beginning of each section. 3. Write a story in three approximately equal sections, where each section begins with the same sentence e.g. It was snowing. Some unseen thing was watching him. Jason was certain of it. He had been planning this job for weeks and committed every detail to memory. Matheson’s wife, kids and staff didn't know their daily schedule as well as Jason did.
He’d slipped silently over the perimeter fence and past the lone guard; a ghostly shadow dancing among the trees that lined the stately driveway. The mansion’s alarm system barely slowed one of the greatest thieves on the planet, and Jason quickly navigated to the safe in the master suite. Except, standing here now, it all seemed like some hazy, feverish dream. He could not recall the sensations of the evening’s events at all. Like a drunken amnesiac viewing family videos, he felt sure it had all happened, but had no visceral connection to any of it. Until now. Moments ago, his senses had gone full HD, the feeling of eyes upon him unleashing a river of adrenalin, and he spun from the safe to survey the bedroom, prepared to fight. Janet Matheson would not be fighting anyone. She lay awkwardly across the corner of the bed, dead eyes both watching and not watching him, the blood from her severed throat forming pools on the floor. Panic sent him running for the door, his heartbeat pounding frantically in his ears, when suddenly the feeling of being watched vanished. Things began going hazy again, the sudden shriek of alarms fading rapidly into silence as the darkness overtook him. Some unseen thing was watching him. This seemed an odd sensation to Silas. He was one of the best guitarists in the World. So good that he could electrify a stadium full of screaming fans with his work even when he was so high that he lost track of where, and sometimes who, he was. Which explains why he was unsurprised to emerge from an inky black void in mid solo, but startled by the feeling that he was being watched. Of course, he was being watched. There were twenty thousand lunatics right in front of him. Yet, as he launched into an even fiercer riff, and the crowd went ballistic, it suddenly felt as if no one was watching. The pulsing, soaring, wall of sound was somehow fading away, even as he continued to rip it. “Oh well,” he thought. “Consciousness was nice while it lasted.” And away went Silas again. Some unseen thing was watching him. The hair on Alpha’s neck stood up and a low growl froze the rest of the pack in place. He sniffed the air, trying to locate the danger. Hunger urged them to hunt, but Alpha was the leader, and while they needed food, his most powerful instinct as pack leader was protecting the other wolves. They’d just emerged from a jet-black wood into this moonlit field, when the overwhelming feeling of being watched had struck Alpha. As quickly as it arrived, the feeling now evaporated. A silent black fog poured out from the woods and surrounded the pack, their vision fading… “Hey asshole, pick a channel!” Lily shouted, throwing her lighter and hitting Matt squarely in the jaw. “And pass the weed, stoner.” Matt blew her a lethargic, THC infused kiss, winked mischievously, and took another hit from the bong. “Don’t you dare,” she warned him. Matt raised the remote, pointed it at the television, and with a chuckle, clicked again. Some unseen thing was watching him. Bob Ross stared at the happy little tree on the canvas before him. It was lovely, but until just now, he had no recollection of painting anything today… If you ever have the chance to visit the beautiful coastal region in Italy known as Cinque Terre, I highly suggest that you do. Don't make it a day trip, however. While there are many wonderful hikes and sights to see by day, you will be doing it all among a sea of tourists fresh off their various floating Marriotts. Do yourself a favor and stay at least one night, maybe two. I rented a nice little air BnB in Riomaggiore that easily slept the 4 of us who were travelling together. It had a balcony that ran the entire length of the third floor which provided this sunset view. A tiny market about 40 paces from the house provided fresh bread, pasta and an amazing assortment of fresh seafood, hauled from the sea that very morning. I cooked it up with some white wine and lemon, cracked a bottle (let's be honest 3 bottles) and we all ate while enjoying this balmy afternoon and evening. All the tourists had fled back to their ships and sailed away. We walked the streets after dark in a town we had nearly all to ourselves. So, stay the night. It's the only way to go. I enjoy flowers. Many people do. But what I like most about them is that all their delicate beauty, both visual and olfactory, is not for us. I find it very comforting somehow that there is a beautiful web of life out there that is entirely indifferent to and independent from humanity. I'd like to share just a few shots I've taken of different plants and flowers. Hope you enjoy. The prompt was to write a 6 word story or a poem inspired by the photograph in this post. I am a little squeamish about how rhymy my poems are thus far. I have not done enough reading on the various forms and formats of poetry. I need to start doing that. I know every line doesn't have to rhyme. I just haven't been able to stop myself. It's a weakness I will have to address to become a better writer. Anyway, the story will be first, and then the poem is on the photo itself. I hope someone somewhere enjoys them someday. One shot.
Two lives. Forever altered. |
AuthorStumbler2001 is not an author or a photographer. And yet, he will write and share photos with you here. ArchivesCategories |