So not only did the first Wednesday of June fly by me (I blame the fact that it was also the 1st that day, it was unexpected!), but the second Wednesday of June also escaped me. Argh! Anyhoo… the writing prompt for June is the word despair:
noun [ mass noun ] the complete loss or absence of hope: a voice full of self-hatred and despair ~ in despair, I hit the bottle.
verb [ no obj. ] lose or be without hope: we should not despair ~ she despaired of finding a good restaurant nearby.
Free-write up to 500 words using ‘despair’ as a prompt. Put yours in the comments and also feel free to comment on my piece.
He grabbed the bottle filled with amber liquid and twisted the top off, then threw the lid in the bin; it wouldn’t be needed again tonight. He heard with great pleasure the glug-glug-glug as the first of the rum was poured into the glass, flowing over the ice. Now to decide: to add coke or not? He voted against – why ruin the taste?
He took a swig before listening to the tinkering of the ice as he swirled it around. It wasn’t long and his glass was empty – he poured some more rum, added some more ice, took a swig, swirled. By the time the bottle was part empty, he was muttering to himself and staring listlessly at the wall.
“You need to stop Jase, it’s getting beyond control.”
He spun his head around, trying to locate the person who spoke. Where the fuck are they?
“I can’t keep doing this. Coming home to find you passed out on the couch or out in the shed or god help me, like last week, out the front on the grass for the whole world to see.”
He stood up quickly, the chair falling backwards and hitting the tiles with a thump. “Come out and show ya face, you fuckin’ cow! Don’t hide!” he screamed.
“I’m taking the kids. We’re going to my parents. I don’t want them to be around their father when he can’t have a single drink without it turning into twenty.”
He strode up the hallway, bumping into the wall as he went. He turned slightly and punched a hole through the fibro. “Look what you made me do Julie!” he yelled as he regarded the blood on his knuckles. Fancy that, doesn’t even hurt. He looked in each bedroom, but he couldn’t find his wife. He kicked a tall-standing vase in the lounge room –small pieces smashed across the floor and fake flowers were sent sprawling.
“What’s happened to you? You always said you wouldn’t become your father.” There was a loss of hope in her voice.
“You happened! Always fuckin’ nagging me. Can you do this Jason; can you do that Jason? Fuck mine, leave a man alone for once!” He stumbled to the bathroom and swung the door open hard enough for it to slam into the wall. He stood there breathing hard, and looked at the closed shower curtain. He strode forward, intending to rip it open and find his pathetic wife cowering from him. But as he took a step, he slipped on the wet tiles and fell backward, his head thumped on the ground.
It was three days before Julie had the phone call at her parent’s house. The police informed her that his employer had found Jason crumpled on the ground, dead from a head injury. The tiles were long dry; they had no idea why he fell.
Julie didn’t have the energy to cry. She simply thought it rather ironic that Jason would die exactly as his father did.
Don’t forget, have a go yourself! Happy writing 🙂