Off-the-cuff writing on a given topic for 30 minutes (give or take a few). Sad, sappy, silly or serious. Always clean. Read, comment, join the fun and post your own.
Monday, 17 September 2012
Prompt for Sept 13
Mickey didn't like his supper
Lizzie's response is fabulous. I'm asking her to post it.
Mickey didn't like his supper. The putrid stench emitted from his blackened portion of gruel was above terms used to describe any other dish served outside of the school cafeteria. The texture was nearly twice as bad, sandy particles small, slimy and impossible to chew. And the food was only the worst part. “Eat your couscous, Mickey,” Mom ordered, nearly done her own bowlful, “when you're done you need to do the dishes, and then we'll talk about school.” Big motivator Mom, Mickey thought, slipping yet another miniscule spoonful into his mouth, then gagging. His father gave him a sharp glance, then helped himself to another serving. Easy for him to do, he had his marriage to look out for. Mickey, however, wasn't too worried about being disowned as long as it meant he didn't have to endure this torture. He pushed his bowl away and stood up, “That's enough, thanks,” he said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, “now if you don't mind I'm going to go to the bathroom and puke.” “Oh no you don't,” Mom said, standing up and shoving Mickey back onto his chair, then producing a report card from her back pocket. “No, first we're going to talk about this.” Reluctantly, Mickey took the paper from her, “Ninety-nine in English,” he read, “an eighty-two in Math, eighty-nine in History, ninety-six in Science, a-hundred in Spanish, ninety-four in Shop—” “And in the high nineties for both Band and Home Economics,” Mom finished, “Your father and I know that Mickey, and we're very proud. But we're also concerned about the comments from your teachers. Would you care to read them for us?” Mickey rolled his eyes but complied, “Reads well and frequently; an excellent mathematician;” he paused, then continued at a slower pace, “very advanced, but contradicts me frequently during class period; no comment; a bit too fluent in some adjectives; needs to work on people skills; no comment; no comment.” His parents were silent. Mickey shifted awkwardly in his seat. “So... yeah.” he said quietly. His mom reached over and clasped his hand, “We'd like to let you know that these things don't make you a bad person, Mickey, but... they're not okay.” Dad finally spoke up, “I know what it's like to be frustrated with your teachers, son. It seems that I spent the entirety of my high school years as the pupil of a bunch of adult who didn't know what they were doing. I felt I knew things better than they did, and in truth, I might've been right. But that didn't change the fact that they were my teachers, and it was my job to show them respect. They made mistakes, but they were doing their best and I wasn't going to get any farther by mocking them.” Mickey opened his mouth to say that he hadn't been mocking them, but then closed it. If not mocking, what had he been doing? Putting them in their place? For some reason that didn't seem like the best thing to say. “I think I get it.” He soon said, his parents watching him closely, “It probably wasn't the best for me to treat my teachers the way I did. It's just... hard.” Mom squeezed his hand tightly, “I know it is Mickey, but you can do it.” She glanced up at the clock, “And unless I'm very much mistaken, it's time for you to go to bed.” She and Dad smiled, and Mickey returned the smile hesitantly, and gave them a hug. * * * Fifteen minutes later, Mickey sat in his room, still recalibrating. He didn't know what had happened that night at the dinnertable, nor what he would do next. He was clueless, that was certain, and that he knew was the best way to learn. Suddenly he smiled. At least he hadn't had to do the dishes.
I used up a bunch more than a half hour on that one, but it was my first piece of writing of this school year and I would die if I had to hand in a half written story. I've made a new goal to post something on this every other day, and if someone else hasn't posted something i will, and I don't think you will like to hear my halfhearted attempts at a prompt. So post, post, post, and be free of them!
Mickey didn't like his supper. The putrid stench emitted from his blackened portion of gruel was above terms used to describe any other dish served outside of the school cafeteria. The texture was nearly twice as bad, sandy particles small, slimy and impossible to chew.
ReplyDeleteAnd the food was only the worst part.
“Eat your couscous, Mickey,” Mom ordered, nearly done her own bowlful, “when you're done you need to do the dishes, and then we'll talk about school.”
Big motivator Mom, Mickey thought, slipping yet another miniscule spoonful into his mouth, then gagging. His father gave him a sharp glance, then helped himself to another serving. Easy for him to do, he had his marriage to look out for. Mickey, however, wasn't too worried about being disowned as long as it meant he didn't have to endure this torture.
He pushed his bowl away and stood up, “That's enough, thanks,” he said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, “now if you don't mind I'm going to go to the bathroom and puke.”
“Oh no you don't,” Mom said, standing up and shoving Mickey back onto his chair, then producing a report card from her back pocket. “No, first we're going to talk about this.”
Reluctantly, Mickey took the paper from her, “Ninety-nine in English,” he read, “an eighty-two in Math, eighty-nine in History, ninety-six in Science, a-hundred in Spanish, ninety-four in Shop—”
“And in the high nineties for both Band and Home Economics,” Mom finished, “Your father and I know that Mickey, and we're very proud. But we're also concerned about the comments from your teachers. Would you care to read them for us?”
Mickey rolled his eyes but complied, “Reads well and frequently; an excellent mathematician;” he paused, then continued at a slower pace, “very advanced, but contradicts me frequently during class period; no comment; a bit too fluent in some adjectives; needs to work on people skills; no comment; no comment.”
His parents were silent. Mickey shifted awkwardly in his seat.
“So... yeah.” he said quietly.
His mom reached over and clasped his hand, “We'd like to let you know that these things don't make you a bad person, Mickey, but... they're not okay.”
Dad finally spoke up, “I know what it's like to be frustrated with your teachers, son. It seems that I spent the entirety of my high school years as the pupil of a bunch of adult who didn't know what they were doing. I felt I knew things better than they did, and in truth, I might've been right. But that didn't change the fact that they were my teachers, and it was my job to show them respect. They made mistakes, but they were doing their best and I wasn't going to get any farther by mocking them.”
Mickey opened his mouth to say that he hadn't been mocking them, but then closed it. If not mocking, what had he been doing? Putting them in their place? For some reason that didn't seem like the best thing to say.
“I think I get it.” He soon said, his parents watching him closely, “It probably wasn't the best for me to treat my teachers the way I did. It's just... hard.”
Mom squeezed his hand tightly, “I know it is Mickey, but you can do it.” She glanced up at the clock, “And unless I'm very much mistaken, it's time for you to go to bed.” She and Dad smiled, and Mickey returned the smile hesitantly, and gave them a hug.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, Mickey sat in his room, still recalibrating. He didn't know what had happened that night at the dinnertable, nor what he would do next. He was clueless, that was certain, and that he knew was the best way to learn.
Suddenly he smiled. At least he hadn't had to do the dishes.
I used up a bunch more than a half hour on that one, but it was my first piece of writing of this school year and I would die if I had to hand in a half written story.
ReplyDeleteI've made a new goal to post something on this every other day, and if someone else hasn't posted something i will, and I don't think you will like to hear my halfhearted attempts at a prompt. So post, post, post, and be free of them!