I am, once again, in a transition period. I have projects in the works and more coming soon but nothing at the moment to share. Last night was freewrite night and I realized I haven’t shared one in awhile. So, you’ll be getting a few days of random stories while I work on getting a few things done for posting.
There is only one rule for freewriting – just write. I may have edited a tiny bit but these should be raw and spontaneous.
The second one here is one of my favorites.
Prompt: Big Bad Wolf, Calling in sick
The alarm tweeted it’s annoying call “beep, beep, beep”. I reached over and hit the button to silence the noise. Nine minutes of silence. Snuggling back under the covers, I closed my eyes hoping to recover the dream I had been rudely pulled from. “MMM, Hugh Jackman,” I sighed. As I made that downward roller coaster plunge into bliss, pain exploded from the center of my abdomen. Pressing my hands against the wave, I closed my eyes tighter. Starbursts appeared before my retinas, regardless of the lack of light. I curled into a ball. The clock chirped again. The twisting of my body to stop it brought new terrible sensations. I reached between my legs to check for blood. Nothing, I would have been grateful if I hadn’t been assaulted from behind. My back curled against the agony, forcing my from to push into the pain there.
I managed to dislodge the clock and roll out of bed. My legs refused to hold me up. I had to focus. Get to the phone, call 911. No, call the boss then 911. If I was lucky the call would go to his voicemail. Think of nothing else but the phone, I told myself as I crawled into the living room. Which idiot said electronics had no place in the bedroom? Rage muted some of the pain.
Prompt: Miniature horse in the bathtub
I leaned back in the seat and watched the familiar row of trees pass by. Every ounce of my body had the consistency of jelly, well not literally. A week at the spa, a luxury we would have never given ourselves when the children were young, no matter how desperately we needed it. Every part of my body had been beaten, rubbed, exfoliated and moisturized into submission. I was several hundred pounds lighter, I was a middle aged, middle class, empty nester and I planned on enjoying it.
I reached for my husband’s hand. I could never love anyone as much as I loved him that moment. He took what I offered. Light filled the car. My hand hit the gearshift with a thud. My husband gasped. I cradled my wounded hand against my pride and looked at him. All color had left his face. His bottom jaw moved up and down. “Honey,” I cried, praying he wasn’t having a heart attack. The car lurched to a stop. He started to open his door. I put the car in park before he released the brake. My attention focused on him as he walked along the car. I turned off the engine and started to follow.
That was when I realized my trip to the spa had been a complete waste of my time. Blood boiled as I scanned my front yard – toilet paper hung from the trees, which I could have forgiven if it hadn’t been for the yellow VW bug parked in the grass. It’s front wrapped around the trunk of my favorite maple tree. The trunk had split, the bushy, leafy end hung at an angle that defied gravity. I exited the car.
The irises and lilies I had spent tending, like my children, each summer lay shredded across their beds. The carnage continued through my rose bushes and into the lilacs.
I took a deep breath against the wave of tears that built up in my chest. I was hot, choking in desperate emotion. Channeling everything I had into rage, I moved forward.
The house had been the main stage for the battle that had ensued while we were gone. Glass, refuse and body waste littered my living room, dining room and kitchen. The house smelled of sweat, alcohol, rotting food and , well, I refused to think beyond that.
Where were my children? Those capable adults who had their own places and lives. Those who were to busy to help with lawn care or those little tasks involving the house while we were gone. I wasn’t about to blame our 80 year old neighbor who graciously agreed to take the responsibilities.
I began a systematic search of the rooms upstairs, each one like gasoline on my already inflamed emotions.
I found a set of feet, clothed in sticky filthy sock, that I assumed were once white, sticking out from under a bed. I yanked on ankle, pulling out my 6’$”, 200 pound baby from the wreckage.
“Wha,” he mumbled as he rubbed his eyes. When they focused, he sat up. “Mom!”
“Don’t mom me. I don’t need an explanation, I want it fixed,” I said in a voice that frightened even me. I turned. Before I made my full retreat, I said “and get that horse out of the guest bathroom.”
I grabbed my husband as I made my way back to the car. After getting him situated in the passenger seat, I turned the car around and drove us back to the spa.
Prompt: train, behind a closed door, the lights flickered, it was just a dirt track off a desert highway, toilet
I made it into the stairway as the sky let go and rain pelted the sidewalk. I walked up to my third floor apartment with my bag of groceries. Silence greeted me as I opened the door.
As I emptied my sack of fruit, yogurt and a tv dinner, the power flickered off. My few windows offered no help. I worked my way to the bathroom where I had left my large scented candle. It would offer enough light to eat my yogurt and strawberries. The tv dinner would have to wait. I should have bought fried chicken from the deli, my waistline wouldn’t change overnight.
Before I could reach my salvation, the ground shook and I fell to my knees. The sensation lasted seconds but was enough to leave me completely disoriented. Cloughs had parted enough to give me light to make it to the front door. I figured I’d survey any damage and drive to my parent’s house.
I opened the door. Instead of the short cement slab between my apartment and my neighbor, there was a long dirt path. I should have found that puzzling but the thought that entered was how can you have a dirt path when everything was dirt. The landscape was just brown with the most beautiful blue sky.
My stomach rumbled but was drowned out by the distant call of a train. I reached back for my purse, grateful I had stopped at the bank for several hundred dollars in cash.
The walk should more than makeup for whatever food they serve on trains. I wonder if there will be fried chicken.