“I’m takin’ the phone off the hook,” Mama said, strangling a bottle of wine. “Leave it be.”
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She vanished into her room while the twins and I huddled together under blankets trying to keep warm.
At least tomorrow was a school day.
On Thursdays, when Matthew’s wife was working late at the hospital, he never missed “snuggling” in bed with their 5-year-old daughter.
And Sundays he never missed 10 o’clock mass.
Matthew prided himself a devoted man, singing his praises and thanks to Him.
i admit to not really comprehending how i came to this piece from the Can I eat this? prompt. i admit to being a bit disturbed by the piece. that’s flash fiction for you.
Words can be heavy.
Damaging.
Impossible to forget the punch, slice, cut.
“What the fuck were you thinking?”
“You’re such a stupid idiot!”
Words.
Evil words spoken in evil tones.
Not even the fastest man in the world could outrun the sting.
Mama screamed
way more than she ever smiled…
unless a guy
(or lots of alcohol)
was around,
or unless she was sleeping.
I never wanted
to be miserable
like Mama
so when I was 13,
she took me for my first abortion.
Pay attention:
Look into their eyes, watch their body language.
Really open your ears, eyes, heart, soul and truly listen.
All kinds make the world go round.
Quit being selfish, and figuring out the good from the bad won’t be so hard.
First year of college, no more requirement courses available.
Intro to Fiction Writing meets Wednesdays.
Semi-circle of people: young, old. Everyone writes, reads.
“Think of a word.”
“Give me a nearby scent and faraway sound.”
23 years later she still remembers, smiles.
The car’s screeching as the driver slammed on the brakes
while trying to avoid hitting her is when it all clicked:
she’d been told by her grandmother and daughter
on separate occasions
that she would die because of a car hitting her.
I sent a bouquet of cookie flowers for her 30th birthday. Who doesn’t love food? For my birthday two months later, she hopped in her car, drove to my work, dropped off a bouquet of cookie flowers. Yum, but what the hell?
Soundly I slept till the door flew open, his hand slamming against the light switch, engulfing the room in brightness.
“I found a fuckin’ bed bug on her bed. Gotta call pest control tomorrow. This is gonna be so much fuckin’ work.”
So late to this for reasons I wish not to discuss other than to answer the Gargleblaster’s question, IS SOMETHING CRAWLING ON ME?
A good girl does what’s expected of her.
She raises her hand to question, patiently waits to be called on.
She eats salad, wears dresses, bats her beautiful eyes, stifles her laughter.
Exhausted, she closes her eyes at night.
She’s finally free.
