Once again, the admins for the Wednesday Writers Whatchamacallit Facebook group strikes again. Leave it to them to get the creative writing juices flowing...and that's a good thing. Even though I'm home full-time working on writing projects and art, it seems this whole Covid-19 self-isolation has worked the reverse on me. It's so nice outside that I'm constantly finding myself working around the house than inside creating my next work of art or book. Today, that changes.
I have to write...there's no denying that. For the last two nights, I've been having dreams, potential stories to add to all the other outlines I have stacking up. None of those will ever come to fruition if I don't get my rear end parked in front of my computer and my fingers dancing across the keys.
So, here it is...my little short story written via the prompt provided by the WWW group admin. This one was a little different. With it, the prompt gave us the first sentence or word for five paragraphs of a story. Here's the order in which they were provided:
Paragraph One: “Glory be!”
Second: I wasn’t sure what that was, but...
Third: The
Fourth: Others might find it funny…
Fifth paragraph: Never
Here it is, the short-short story, The Day Momma Cussed...I hope it brings a little smile.
“Glory be!” shouted mom, grabbing onto the table as the house shook around us. Light from the swinging chandelier over the table cascaded like waves across the walls, giving me a moment of disorientation. As the house continued to buck and jolt, cabinets opened, vomiting their contents onto the counters. Canned vegetables rolled and bounced, the window shattered, and plaster rained down on us. Outside, something loud crashes.
I wasn’t sure what that was, but I have a feeling our barn—nearly a century old—just gave up the ghost. I wanted to go to the window and see, but the floor still bucked, trying to throw me to the floor. I’m not sure how I did it, but using the kitchen door frame, I was able to remain upright through the quake. Mom was a different story.
The shattered window, glasses, and bowls left sharp shards of glistening pain strewn across the entire floor—and there I stood with feet bare. During the worst of it, mom lost her grip on the table and now lay in a heap on the kitchen floor. “Damn-it!” she shouted, stockinged feet slipping beneath her as she tried to work herself to her knees.
Others might find it funny that she cussed, but in the moment, after all the calamity, I didn’t even notice. But later, after retelling the horrifying details of that day, that one fact would always be at the forefront of my story—that was the day momma cussed. I’ve never heard her cuss before.
Never. And to this day, to my knowledge, she’s never done it again.
- CJT
April 15, 2020
Now, for a little behind the scenes look at the cover image I chose for this story. If your family is like mine, and I'm talking old-school upbringing, you'll know where I'm coming from. My mom is so prim and proper that if I ever heard her cuss, I swear the earth would explode. There you have it...
Until next time.
-CJT
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