It was 2pm when she came home in her shitty ride. (He bought himself a white BMW because he was like that.) She didn’t pull into the driveway because her child was playing basketball there. So she parked along the street and got out. Her child noticed: she was still wearing her bathrobe, looked ghastly, and had oatmeal in her hair. She gave her child a mild hug as mothers do when they are distraught but trying to hide it and went inside.
The guy who drove the white BMW threw a pot of oatmeal at her because she refused to go to Catholic mass given that it was the second Sunday of the month, which meant that it was Protestant church week per their agreement. But the guy who drove the white BMW didn’t want to go. So he threw a pot of oatmeal at her. A very reasonable thing to do. She ignored his obscenities and threats and went to IHOP. Her child had stayed the night at a friend’s house.
Her child began to play the lottery when he was of age. He knew there were people who could fix problems like this for lots of green.
October 6th, 2012 at 3:24 pm
I kind of like the lack of detail in this. It toys with the reader’s perception of what’s going on. You gradually reveal more and more; the child’s gender, why the protagonist has oatmeal in her hair. Then there’s the misdirection. Who says throwing a pot of oatmeal is reasonable? Is that her justifying the crazy actions of someone she loves, or an echo of what he’s said? I love the quantum leap into the future in the final paragraph, the sinister hopefulness of it. Nice work.
October 8th, 2012 at 8:01 am
Thanks for reading and for commenting. I really appreciate it!