tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3901370917824739259.post7354133463650863713..comments2024-03-27T10:02:56.747-04:00Comments on Fiction University: Writing Prompt: The Challenge: Keeping it Short Janice Hardyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02356672149097741248noreply@blogger.comBlogger3125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3901370917824739259.post-82315348507671397542017-07-29T12:27:02.633-04:002017-07-29T12:27:02.633-04:00The front door opened.
Dad froze.
Mom stared him...The front door opened.<br /><br />Dad froze.<br /><br />Mom stared him down.<br /><br />He glanced at me.<br /><br />He realized I talked.<br /><br />My stupidest mistake.<br /><br />"I'm sorry, Dad."<br /><br />He swallowed.<br /><br />Mom turned to me.<br /><br />"Go upstairs."<br /><br />"Mom, I-"<br /><br />"Leave already."<br /><br />She never sounded angrier.<br /><br />I nodded.<br /><br />Dad passed by me.<br /><br />I hide nearby.<br /><br />"Why hide this?"<br /><br />Silence.<br /><br />"Well?" Mom screamed.<br /><br />More silence.<br /><br />"Answer me," Mom screeched<br /><br />My heart pounded.<br /><br />"I knew you'd worry."<br /><br />"Damn right I would!"<br /><br />My eyes watered up.<br /><br />Dad had testicular cancer.<br /><br />"You're telling Becky."<br /><br />"I know."<br /><br />"She'll be home soon."<br /><br />"Okay."<br /><br />Mom's sobs were wretched.<br /><br />"It's okay baby."<br /><br />"No it's not."<br /><br />She was right.<br /><br />Dad was dying.<br /><br />Mom would be a widow.<br /><br />Becky and I orphans.<br /><br />Why was this happening?<br /><br />Becky came in.<br /><br />She tensed.<br /><br />"What's going on?"<br /><br />Dad hugged her.<br /><br />"I'm dying, sweetie."<br /><br />"What?"<br /><br />"Daddy's got cancer."<br /><br />Becky's face contorted<br /><br />"Is this a joke?"<br /><br />Dad shook his head.<br /><br />Becky pulled him close.<br /><br />Mom came over too.<br /><br />I stayed away.<br /><br />I couldn't move.<br /><br />It was too real.<br /><br />"You're getting treatment, right?"<br /><br />"It's too far along."<br /><br />"Don't say that!"<br /><br />Becky's face was crimson.<br /><br />Mom wiped her cheeks.<br /><br />"Don't cry baby."<br /><br />"Shut up!"<br /><br />Becky ran upstairs.<br /><br />She found me.<br /><br />"You know, didn't you?"<br /><br />I nodded.<br /><br />She bit her lip.<br /><br />"That's explains a lot!"<br /><br />She punched me.<br /><br />"Becky!" Mom called.<br /><br />My arm throbbed.<br /><br />Mom and Dad arrived.<br /><br />"Stop fighting, please."<br /><br />Becky glanced at Dad.<br /><br />She said nothing.<br /><br />Mom checked my arm.<br /><br />A bruise was coming.<br /><br />"Are you okay?"<br /><br />I shook my head.<br /><br />Mom turned to Becky.<br /><br />"Go to your room."<br /><br />She glared at Mom.<br /><br />"We'll talk later."<br /><br />"Don't count on it."<br /><br />She stomped away.<br /><br />She slammed her door.<br /><br />It rocked the floor.<br /><br />I glanced at Dad.<br /><br />"What happens now?"<br /><br />"We keep going."<br /><br />"I love you, Dad"<br /><br />"I love you too."<br /><br />He hugged me.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3901370917824739259.post-26455617225519309792016-07-18T20:22:00.350-04:002016-07-18T20:22:00.350-04:00"I've always hated you." The words s..."I've always hated you." The words shocked me. I didn't plan them. I just said them.<br /><br />"You...that's a lie."<br /><br />"It's not." I was still surprised. I never spoke out. I never got mad. I was never honest. "I hate you. I have for years.”<br /><br />“Tell me the truth.” Cristi’s stubborn like that. She doesn’t like honesty. Not from me. That’s why I lie.<br /><br />I’m tired of lying.<br /><br />“I am. God, Cristi, just… I’m sick of you. I’m sick of us.” It was freeing. It was terrifying. I was hooked immediately.<br /><br />“You son of a…” I waited. She couldn’t finish.<br /><br />“Son of a what? What, Cristi?” Cristi doesn’t like swearing. I raised an eyebrow. I dared her. She pursed her lips.<br /><br />“Why now?” she asked. I shrugged.<br /><br />“Why not?”<br /><br />“Because you’re hurting me.” I frowned. I didn’t want that. I never wanted that. “You’re *hurting* me.”<br /><br />I panicked. I reverted to lies. Lies were safe.<br /><br />“Good,” I said. (I hope this works.) “Good,” I repeat, softly. (This isn’t working.) I open my mouth. I will fix things. “Cristi—”<br /><br />“I’ll kill myself.” I panic. Lies or the truth? Which will fix things? “If you leave. I mean it, Gina. I’m not joking.” I believe her. <br /><br />Because I’m never honest. But she’s *always* honest.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3901370917824739259.post-71850525116633554242016-07-17T18:54:26.115-04:002016-07-17T18:54:26.115-04:00"Mom likes you best."
I sighed. "B..."Mom likes you best."<br /><br />I sighed. "Ben, I-"<br /><br />"No. No. She does. You know it."<br /><br />Ben is a whiner. Always was. Always will be. It's not his fault. Dad coddled him. Took him to games. Bought him a skidoo. Gave him the business. Made him his favourite.<br /><br />So Mom loved me. <br /><br />She showed me patience. She tended my wounds. She taught me to cook. <br /><br />We baked. We sautéed. We broiled. We roasted. We savoured our days. We breathed in life.<br /><br />My family grew apart. Home was two pairs. Not one family. We became strangers.<br /><br />Ben joined Dad. Two salesmen selling tech. They knew the keywords. They flabbergasted and flummoxed. They outright lied. Dad could fake-out anyone.<br /><br />I become a chef. Flipping burgers. Melting Phillys. Learning to speak diner. Turning lard into comfort. Turning starch into smiles. <br /><br />Ben dropped by once.<br /><br />“Loser. I pull in thousands. You stink of grease.”<br /><br />“I love it here.” I paraded a flyer. “See. Best Diner in metro. Two years running.”<br /><br />“Voted for by morons.” Ben snorted a laugh. “Give it up, loser.”<br /><br />Then Dad died. Tech sales went online. PCs stopped selling. Ben was lost. He needed help. And Mom said, “No.”<br /><br />So he found me. He wanted money. He wanted a bed. He invaded my kitchen. He waited for food.<br /><br />“You owe me.” Ben slammed my table. “You got to choose. I was mini Dad. Stupid dead-end job.”<br /><br />I set the table. The food was heated. “You could’ve said no. You weren’t forced.”<br /><br />Ben cupped his chin. “Maybe. Maybe not. Dad expected me, though.”<br /><br />I hesitated. Then I slid the plate over. “Here you go.”<br /><br />Ben gave a stare. His knife prodded it. He took a whiff. “What is it?”<br /><br />“Pie, “I said. “Humble Pie.”<br />ikmarhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09211122590810154080noreply@blogger.com