Writing Prompt: Day 84

84.jpgDay 84 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Write a story starting with the end and working towards the beginning.

Shannon: Have you ever gotten to a point in your life where you had to ask yourself what dumb decision lead me here? Well, I’m going through one of these moments at the time as I’m stuck dangling from a tree branch.

Okay so running up the tree to get away from a bull wasn’t one of my most well thought out ideas. Neither was participating in this bull race in the first place, but sometimes I do these things to remind myself that I’m still alive and that I still have some fight in me to survive.

I have these moments where I question things and let all that doubt pile so I have to carry it with me. Maybe deep down I like the added weight. The last straw was when my girlfriend of two years decided we needed to break up. A few months before that, my best friend revealed he was taking a job in another country. It’s his dream career, but all I heard was that he was leaving me behind.

Still, the first tragedy in the trifecta was the hardest to bear. My dad died and my world went dull, nothing could make me stop missing him. I keep thinking about how the day before I had no clue what life had in store for me.

Erin: There was a bright light and I was brought to life.

A truck drove away from our car.

We sang our hearts out to the radio that was playing our song.

We turned off the radio.

We got out of the car.

Ben insisted, “I’m alright to drive.”

We entered the bar.

I paid the tab, rounding up significantly to avoid being cheap on the tip due to my impaired math abilities.

I watched as he started with his 15th drink.

As he got closer and closer to his first drink we discussed how he lost his job.

We left the bar hoping to make life a little more bearable.

Try to turn one of your stories on it’s head.

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One thought on “Writing Prompt: Day 84

  1. My eyes fluttered open to a shrieking alarm near my head going off; someone was murmuring something about a flat line but I couldn’t really hear them. All around me were tear-streaked faces with careful smiles on their faces that didn’t reach their red eyes. But as I struggled to breathe, the horrible shriek turned into an abnormally slow, steady beeping and one of the nurses, someone with a placid expression to calm the grieving family, muttered about it nearing the end. One of the women dissolved into her husband’s arms and he cradled her, watching me with strong eyes.
    As my breath got gradually easier and the beeping of the machine sped slightly, I grinned up at the family around me; I was so lucky to have such love around me at this moment. Leaning against the wall was my nephew, who hated everyone and wore his hair shaggy like an idiot, with a tear sliding down his made-up face. Snuggling into her mother’s maroon sweater was my niece; she’d been near inconsolable just yesterday with the final news. Somewhere, grabbing a cup of tea for me, was my daughter, Emma. I’d just sent her away because I didn’t want her to be around for this.
    Twisting in the comfortable pillows, the nurse reached over and fluffed them up, adjusting the bed so I was sitting upright; the cushions held me in place awkwardly. When I coughed, everyone in the room froze and held their breath, making me melt into a pool of grim laughter. “I know I’m dying, but you don’t have to watch m-” I began, before cutting myself off at the looks on their faces.
    Across the room, Emma stepped back into the room and touched her aunt’s shoulder to get closer to me. There was a look of despair between them; something I’d recently grown accustomed to seeing shared between my kin. Emma came through the small crowd to take her seat at my side, cupping my skin-and-bone hand tightly in her own. When she glanced at the nurse, who was checking some numbers on the computer, she drew strength from some well that must have been dry for weeks. Nodding curtly at me, she gazed into my eyes, as I did her.
    “Emma, dear, would you mind getting your old mother a cup of tea, please?” the last syllable was lost in a crack from my voice box; I could barely make it through some of the condolence calls these last few days. Beside me, the nurse appeared finished with her analysis, and tapped on some mobile device rapidly before manually taking my heartrate. For the past few weeks, this was the nurse I liked the most.
    When she turned, I could see a steadfast set to her jaw that reminded me that, even if everyone else broke down, she would remain calm; I knew they’d need that. With a dull look, she ushered everyone out, save Emma. My nephew nodded solemnly as he shrugged himself off the wall and touched my leg warmly. Tearfully, my sister entered silently and stumbled around the bed to give me a gentle squeeze, my niece caught in the middle. I nodded to the nurse, smiling up at her. As she sauntered out purposefully, her voice was strong as she spoke, “Hey, you’ve got some visitors. I’m just gonna check on your vitals, okay, hon?”
    When it was just Emma and I alone again, I turned to her and whispered, “My beautiful baby girl, this is the day. I will always been your mother and I will always love you; but we will be parted today.” Her face was raw from crying as she stroked my weak hand with her slender painter’s fingers. Letting the sad tears fall, we waited for our final moments, and some beloved family members to stand vigil with her.

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