Monday Motivations

To get your writing going this week, here are a few ideas:

Story opening:

‘It’s all your dad’s fault. I warned you what would happen!’ she said.




The Final Journey


Last week, one of my motivations was a story opening:

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

A huge thank you to Keith Channing who sent in his story:

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…






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25 Responses to Monday Motivations

  1. I like this story very much

  2. teachezwell says:

    Great story! I also love your new prompt!

  3. teachezwell says:

    Hey, how do I share my story with you?

  4. teachezwell says:

    Reblogged this on Teachezwell Blog and commented:
    Here’s my response to Esther’s awesome writing blog. Check out her writing motivation and try one for yourself!
    The Final Journey
    ‘It’s all your dad’s fault. I warned you what would happen!’ she said.
    What could I say? My mother was right. If I hadn’t listened to Joe, I wouldn’t be sitting in this nasty ER waiting room. Five hours and counting. If not for Joe, I wouldn’t be cuffed to a hard plastic chair, guarded by an equally hard police officer. It’s all Joe’s fault.
    “Come on, Cassie,” my dad had pleaded. “I wouldn’t ask you if I had any choice. I gotta pay these dudes. All you have to do is drop a bag into an open car window. Easy-peasy.”
    “Joe!” I had whined. I had been calling my dad by his first name since I realized he was more of a kid than me. That was five years ago and he hadn’t changed a bit.
    “Honey, are you still upset with me about that last time? I had no idea the dealer was an undercover cop.”
    I groaned. “Mom warned me not to listen to you. She says you are a psycho or something.”
    “Cassie, honey, this is my last drop. Then I’m out. I promise!”
    I had shaken my head but knew I couldn’t refuse Joe. Not with that expectant half-smile. Not with those big, dark eyes. Joe knew I was hooked.
    The rest of the evening was a blur. I’d taken Joe’s money bag to the window of a pimpmobile. Unfortunately, some dude in the passenger’s seat had grabbed more than the bag. He locked onto my arm like a gorilla. It wasn’t my fault that his pistol ended up in my hand. I couldn’t be blamed for the accidental shot which ricocheted through the car. Or for the death of the driver, who slumped onto the accelerator and dragged me several rough feet down the road.
    “Why do you listen to your dad?” my mother had asked in frustration. “I warned you what would happen!”
    “I know,” I sighed. “This was the last time. I mean it.”

  5. Keith Channing and teachezwell: Both have written quite good stories. Keep it up!

  6. TanGental says:

    Yep, Keith you nailed it. Esther, I’m taking today’s motivation as a prompt (well, all three actually) for my Nanthology if that’s ok? It will be a bit longer than usual (has to be 1667 words). I will return!

  7. TanGental says:

    Here you are; the link because it’s the standard 1667 (I think!) and a bit long for here.

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