January 18th
The restrictions were I must write anything but it must begin with, “I was pummeled as a teenager.”
In ten minutes
I was pummeled as a teenager, and now I wanted to return the favor. By the time I had my third drink that was all I could imagine. Bryant was standing twenty feet away with his idiotic looking red mustache. No one ever moves around here. Cheryll was talking to me non-stop and all I could think about was making Bryant’s face redder with the back end of a ketchup bottle.
Maybe I could taunt him until he swung his fat fists. I hadn’t considered those fists. Construction work really does broaden those physical horizons.
“What’s wrong?” Cheryll whispered as she knocked my anger spiel with a grip to the shoulder.
“Nothing, keep going. The kids, were they reasonable today?” She mumbled about how her students don’t understand responsibility. I guess things don’t change, considering Bryant is laughing twenty feet away without any knowledge of my existence. I’m gonna walk over there.
But I didn’t do it. I got up, grabbed my coat and just said, “let’s find somewhere else” and left. Pathetic. It was that mustache. I’ll never return the favor.
January 25th
The restrictions were I must write about a character that is capable of change and changes from:
Angry to Ashamed
Attracted to Disgusted
Exhausted to Enthusiastic
Determined to Uncertain
In ten minutes
I am a man. I am a man with a helping hand. But now my hand was swatted away. I was always there when I was needed. She would look at me in the kitchen, silent, and I would plead with her. I would provide her shoe shopping. I took the kids to practice. I washed the damn dog. These things were an outward expression that I assume she never noticed. Because then I saw her. I saw her that night get out of our van and scurry to that other man’s house. I watched her throw herself at him at the doorway. I observed their uncaring aggression throughout the house. I knew somewhere that she didn’t appreciate me. She hated that dog. She detested football practice. She loathed me, and my job.
I am a man. I know that now. I’m going to fix this. Real men, real humans solve problems. I’ll solve this one. My office is very high: 13th floor in fact. I’ll get to wave goodbye as I fall. I approached the window. Slowly, cautiously, quietly, I opened the window. Traffic whispers clung below. I exited to the ledge and looked down.
My office is very high. I can jump. I can fix this. I will fix this. The cars below leaped in and out of focus. I turned and vomited on my office floor. I am a man, and I’ll never fix this problem.
The restrictions were I must write anything but it must begin with, “I was pummeled as a teenager.”
In ten minutes
I was pummeled as a teenager, and now I wanted to return the favor. By the time I had my third drink that was all I could imagine. Bryant was standing twenty feet away with his idiotic looking red mustache. No one ever moves around here. Cheryll was talking to me non-stop and all I could think about was making Bryant’s face redder with the back end of a ketchup bottle.
Maybe I could taunt him until he swung his fat fists. I hadn’t considered those fists. Construction work really does broaden those physical horizons.
“What’s wrong?” Cheryll whispered as she knocked my anger spiel with a grip to the shoulder.
“Nothing, keep going. The kids, were they reasonable today?” She mumbled about how her students don’t understand responsibility. I guess things don’t change, considering Bryant is laughing twenty feet away without any knowledge of my existence. I’m gonna walk over there.
But I didn’t do it. I got up, grabbed my coat and just said, “let’s find somewhere else” and left. Pathetic. It was that mustache. I’ll never return the favor.
January 25th
The restrictions were I must write about a character that is capable of change and changes from:
Angry to Ashamed
Attracted to Disgusted
Exhausted to Enthusiastic
Determined to Uncertain
In ten minutes
I am a man. I am a man with a helping hand. But now my hand was swatted away. I was always there when I was needed. She would look at me in the kitchen, silent, and I would plead with her. I would provide her shoe shopping. I took the kids to practice. I washed the damn dog. These things were an outward expression that I assume she never noticed. Because then I saw her. I saw her that night get out of our van and scurry to that other man’s house. I watched her throw herself at him at the doorway. I observed their uncaring aggression throughout the house. I knew somewhere that she didn’t appreciate me. She hated that dog. She detested football practice. She loathed me, and my job.
I am a man. I know that now. I’m going to fix this. Real men, real humans solve problems. I’ll solve this one. My office is very high: 13th floor in fact. I’ll get to wave goodbye as I fall. I approached the window. Slowly, cautiously, quietly, I opened the window. Traffic whispers clung below. I exited to the ledge and looked down.
My office is very high. I can jump. I can fix this. I will fix this. The cars below leaped in and out of focus. I turned and vomited on my office floor. I am a man, and I’ll never fix this problem.
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