Monday Motivations

You have two choices for your Monday Motivations this week – a story opening or a sentence for the middle of your story.

Story opening:

I didn’t think looking down upon oneself when dead would be quite like this.

Story middle:

Arms reached out. Eyes large and lifeless sought hers. She screamed.

***

Last week I gave you two choices for your Monday Motivations  – a story beginning and an ending.

Here was the beginning:

George was going to die.

Now the ending:

As I drove away I let the tears come, wondering if I would ever come home again.

Thank you to Geoff Le Pard who send in his story leading up to the ending:

We moved many times, always living over the shop. In good times, Dad helped in a bakery, once a toy shop. In not so good times, it was a pawnbrokers with poor families desperate, or a gunsmith who sold ‘second hand’ firearms to the local no goods. I didn’t really know what I wanted to do except to get away from ‘the shop’. Getting a place at University became the focus, as much as earning enough money sweeping floors to buy my own car. The day came when I packed and said goodbye. Everyone else was sad, of course, but I was just glad to face the road ahead. For one thing never again would I live over an onion peeling shop. As I drove away I let the tears come, wondering if I would ever come home again.

***

1tHubfq

Advertisements
This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

5 Responses to Monday Motivations

  1. I didn’t think looking down upon oneself when dead would be quite like this.

    In fairness, I didn’t expect to die; not yet, anyway.

    Let me tell you how it came about. I was walking home across the common, after having spent the most splendid evening with some old school chums. Good sorts, all of them; kind of chaps one could rely on in an emergency, never let a chap down, all that kind of thing. We’ve been meeting up like this for decades. Every year at this time, one or other of us plays host at a local restaurant, each of us trying to make the affair more grand than the year before. I thought I’d done it this year; posh restaurant (expensive enough anyway), celebrity chef, imaginative cuisine, and the atmosphere… let me just say that it’s the kind of restaurant where one is more likely to whisper than to talk loudly. Imagine the ambiance of a traditional gentlemen’s club in the City transported to a rural eating place and you’ll be quite close. For goodness’ sake, it’s even called the Sotto Voce!

    But I digress.

    After the meal and a few snorters to finish the evening off, the chaps piled into their respective cars and set off with cheery waves and cries of ‘à l’année prochaine’. The Sotto Voce is less than half a mile from my place, so I had chosen to walk, taking a short-cut across the common. I had gone no more than a hundred yards or so off the road when I came over really queer; horribly tight feeling in my chest radiating down my left arm. Happily, I had the presence of mind to call my wife on my mobile.

    “Listen, old Gal,” I said, “having a bit of a turn here. Be a dear and call an ambulance, will you?”

    “Oh, my God,” she exclaimed. “What happened? Where are you? Are you alright?”

    “No time,” I explained, and told her near enough exactly where I was. Then the pain intensified, and I suppose I blacked out.

    Now I seem to be floating above my own body, which is on a hospital bed surrounded by medics, and wires all over the place. It looks like the medics have cut into my chest and are directly massaging my heart. I want to shout out to them. I want to tell them that they’re wasting their time, that I’m dead already. I have no idea how I know that; I haven’t seen any distant light approaching me, or felt any call or anything else one is supposed to experience at the point of death, but somehow, I know it’s over.

    As I look down and watch the doctors’ futile efforts, the scene start to fade into darkness and I drift away with a single thought: I didn’t have a chance to say goodbye to my Lucy…

  2. Pingback: A sad and unexpected end. | Keith Kreates

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s