Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Speed-Writing Workshop Outcome.

Dear Globlets,

Doodoodoo... At camp I went to a writing workshop where we were told to choose between two paragraphs or a scenario that was provided. One was a CIA thing, one was a job thing (I think) and the scenario was about someone in a family dying and the family not being able to afford the funeral. I chose the latter. This is what I got. I've built on it since. We were given 20 minutes to write.
I really enjoy doing this kind of thing. Writing about something. That makes sense. I mean writing about something using an already existing element like a picture, a random scenario, and so on. I have a lot of fun doing it and I'd like to do more. (I accidentally wrote "and I'd like to do you." Oops! Hehe.)

I'm just thinking about it now, but if anyone wants to help with that, I'd love you forever but I'd let you sleep on it. Like send me a thingy and if I likey then I might do writey and I'll be thanky! K?-y.


"What do you mean he's dead? But I talked to him last week! Put mom on the phone." were the frantic words of my mother as she faced and put her head against the kitchen wall. She didn't try to hide her emotions from me. She started to cry and fiddle with a nearby refrigerator magnet as she thought about the news she just received.

Right then, I heard dad arrive. I can tell it's him by the sound of his shoes on the floor, the way he walks and how carries himself. Briefcase down, door closed and locked, click, click, then the rattling of the gold chain and the quick slide of the small, cheap metal knob. It's always the same. My older sister ran to hug him, tears running down her hormone-infested cheeks. He put his hand on her long blonde hair as she buried her face in his button-up shirt. He asked why she was crying but her constant sobbing prevented her from speaking. He insisted she stop and tell him but she pushed him away instead and ran back to her room.

He took off his shoes, threw his coat on the sofa, and headed towards the kitchen where he heard my mom talking on the phone loudly. He took a deep breath and loosened his tie before walking in, bracing himself for his wife and what ever issue had risen. I ran to him and grabbed his leg tightly. He continued walking with a section of his pants clenched in my small fists, and I followed.
"Okay. Love you too," momma said and hung up. She looked up through watery eyes at daddy who asked her what happened. I let go so he could hug her.
"Dad's dead," she said and she buried her face in his shirt just like my sister does.
"What are we going to do? We need to arrange a funeral. How are we going to afford it? We just spent a small fortune on Jane's school and her broken arm and... and..."
"I know. We'll think of something."
"Like what? What are we going to think of? How are we going to do this?!"
"Lower your voice, you're scaring the kid." They both looked down at me.
"She's too young. She doesn't understand!" I tried my best to smile back at them. I wanted them to be happy. I wanted them to smile back and pick me up and forget about this 'funeral business.' They looked back at each other.
"Why don't we cremate?" suggested my dad.
"Cremate!? You know my parents are Catholic!"
"Well, I don't see another way to solve this! Cremation is cheaper than a burial and funeral and whole bit."
"I know but... and it can't be a plywood coffin either, oh my god. He always wanted the best even when he didn't have anything left. He wanted to be buried. It's what he wanted! It's what my mom wants! They're bloody Catholic! You can't change their minds about this kind of thing. We need to get the money... or do something!"
"Don't forget we have bills to pay. Rent is due soon. Our children need food!" He looked back at me and told me to take the dinosaur out of my mouth. I was only trying to be funny. I thought it would stop the yelling. I climbed onto a chair and grabbed my bowl of Cheerios where I began to pop them in my mouth one by one like popcorn as I watched the tension and temperature rise in the room, the fingers point, the arms flail, the hearts pound, and the short, harsh words fly back and forth like bullets in a battlefield.

Until all of a sudden there was silence. There was no more shouting; nothing more to be said. They breathed in deeply and they stared at each other; then to the floor. It seemed like minutes and minutes went by. An evening breeze that made the curtains near the sink dance was all that could be heard.

Dad finally looked up and said, "I have a plan."

*dun dun dun*

1 comment:

Tentacleslol said...

I really liked that.

I love you :)