Hey, writer-type folks. AND PEOPLE WHO JUST WANT TO PLAY BUT DON'T IDENTIFY AS 'WRITERS' - all are welcome here! Every Friday, we do a fun free-write. For fun. And Freedom!
Write whatever you want in the 'comments' section on this blog post. Play as many times as you like. #breaktheblog! You have two minutes (give or take a few seconds ... no pressure!). Have fun. The more people who play, the more fun it is. So, tell a friend. Then send 'em here to read your 'two' and encourage them to play.
She held the report card like it had been dipped in a urinal. I could see the heat rising, the slight twitch in her lip that seemed to pull in the corners of the room - she was a magician about to yank everything. But. I'd. Still. BE. STANDING!!! No audience, no matter. And it wasn't like this was new territory. So, I waited, choking on the smoke from the scented candles she sold and therefore felt compelled to use.
My purgatory smelled like cinnamon apples.
And she let that ride. Held it like a high note on a Casio keyboard. And what was I going to say? Sorry, Mom, there's this girl in my class and she stole my brain, twisted it, and then put it back - the damn thing don't work right now. Can't sit still. Can't concentrate.
Sorry, Mom, I'm more worried about getting my ass beat in the bathroom. If they gave grades for holding your piss all day, you wouldn't be this kind of mad/sad that makes me wonder if it would be different if Dad hadn't died.
The light in the room flickered when Mom threw the report card on the table. Everything stopped. My heart. The world. Evolution. Probably satellite signals and animal migrations. I flinched. I didn't want to, but I did. And then I closed my eyes so hard I saw red.
When I opened them, her eyes were thick with tears. Voice, too.
"Son, it's been a hard year. I hated school. Did I ever tell you that? Got tired of being judged. And your father ... I don't know, do they make human report cards? I still miss him just as much as you do, though. He drove me crazy, but I loved him."
I couldn't move, and I didn't think I'd be able to speak until the words were already out of my mouth.
"Mom. Let's order pizza. I'll buy. I still have that birthday money from Grandma."
And that's just how it happened. The pizza was even good considering the journey it had taken. It had done it's best.
I would have given it an A+.
BREAK THE BLOG FOR ME! AND GIVE ME SOME STUFF TO READ! Get 'em! :)
#2minutesgo Tweet it! Share it! Shout it from the top of the shack you live in! I will be out most of the day, but I'll be back...