Today’s writing prompt: Something good that came from something bad.
Set your timer for 15-20 minutes. Write. Don’t think. Just write.
Okay, you might have to think a little before writing on this prompt. Once you choose a topic. . . then . . . write without thinking. No editing, no censoring. You can destroy your writing later, if you want.
For now . . . just write.
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James Seamarsh
“I’ve had it, Pops,” Jason said.
Steve stopped walking. Jason didn’t.
“Jason?”
Another three steps, then father watched his son’s head fall, shoulders hunching forward. Jason didn’t turn, just stood there, a tree bent in the wind. Steve walked up alongside, afraid he wasn’t going to be able to help his son.
“I’m a failure, Dad.”
Jason’s flat whisper cut deep. Steve breathed, holding back tears, knew feeling sorry for his son wouldn’t help anything, changed his perspective.
“You know, I’m pretty successful,” Steve said, walking again, hoping to engage his son in something other than his own self-pity.
“You’re f*cking successful!”
Jason quickly caught up, even as his father walked faster.
“Yep, I’m f-ing successful!”
They smiled at one another, accepting a truce on the taboo of Jason’s use of explitive deletives.
“It’s partly your fault,” Steve said.
“What?”
“My success.”
Jason stopped, jerked his body upright.
“B*llsh*t!”
“Easy,” his dad reminded, keeping Jason focused on what was being discussed, not the playful use of foul language.
“I wouldn’t be the man I am,” Steve said, facing Jason, looking him right in the eyes, “if it weren’t for you.”
For a brief moment, sadness poured between them, a flood of memories, painful reminders of Jason’s brain damage and lack of self-control.
“F*ck you!”
Jason was off, walking fast.
“It’s true,” Steve called, “and you know it.”
Jason slowed.
“You taught me patience, tolerance, acceptance,” Steve said, slowly closing the gap between them. “I would never have been as successful as I am, without you.”
Jason turned. Even in the darkness his eyes glinted with the growing moisture.
“It’s partly your fault,” Steve laughed, trying to distract his own tears. “If you think I’m successful, then you’re successful, too.”
Father and son searched each other’s face for the truth that was there.
“Come on,” Steve said, putting an arm around his son, pulling him close alongside as he turned them around, back towards the Christmas dinner and family that they had so abruptly left. “Let’s get some dinner.”
mcullen Post author
Strong writing. . . you paint a scene I can see, feel and be a little uncomfortable with (in a good way . . . in the way that I’m in the scene with these characters). You create tension with action. . . having Jason walk away, unsure if he will stop, be able to listen. Then having Steve walk away. Will Jason follow? The emotions are raw, real: “For a brief moment, sadness poured between them, a flood of memories, painful reminders of Jason’s brain damage and lack of self-control.”
I love this very special line of dialogue plus action, ““I wouldn’t be the man I am,” Steve said, facing Jason, looking him right in the eyes, “if it weren’t for you.”
The ending is completely satisfying, facing the truth and returning to the hearth.