10 minute Tuesday: Death


stone angel

I am in week three of my online writing class and I think I’m definitely coming up with good stuff so far.  I am also doing a lot of personal work on trusting my muse and not focusing on structure (i.e. not rewriting the beginning). I have taken to writing down all my ideas for changes to act one in my writing notebook.  I can’t change the story until I  actually have the story written.

Also, I know I’m not supposed to have italics for anything other then the title of books or magazines, but I just really needed them right now until I find a different way to indicate the protagonist’s thoughts without tags.


Prompt:  Write about the first time your character experiences death

The church was empty in the middle of the day and whether or not it was open, I was deteremind to make it my sanctuary.  The front door opened easily to a empty foyer and the doors that led to the chapel.  The familiar pictures became a blur as I headed to the office in the children’s bible study room.  I closed the door behind me, grabbing the phone and ducking beneath the desk.  It felt like my heart felt like it was cracking open every time I thought of Mrs. Peters words:  suspension until the investigation was concluded.  Expulsion or exoneration were both possibilities, but didn’t matter.  My permanent record was ruined.  Good bye Ivy Leagues and scholarships.  Hello living with Daddy forever.

I dialed the phone number and tucked the receiver beneath my chin.  The droning of the ringing became the soundtrack to my plan to escape. I need to get out.  Maybe if I beg, she’ll come and get me. Or  I can use the bake sale money and take a bus to wherever she is and I can just live there.    “Mommy.” The whimper escaped me as the fourth ring  ended.  Ring number five, number six.  I hit the disconnect button and re entered the phone number without waiting.   I will call all day if that’s what it takes.

My forehead tingled with the memory  of her departing kiss as if it was given that morning not five years prior.  I promise I will listen to every story and not complain.  I will clean my room.  I will make my bed.  I won’t eat the last scoop of ice cream.  I’ll wash out the used toothpaste from the sink after I brush.  I’ll clean the bathroom and never leave strands of my hair on the sink.  Please, Mommy, pick up.  Ring nine.  I pressed down the disconnect button and dialed again, not pressing the redial button, but keying in each number without mistake.

“Hello?”  a male voice said, half asleep.  I checked my watch.  11 am.

“Is Evelyn Taylor there?”  The pounding  of my heart echoed in my ears.  I pressed the receiver harder into my ear to hear his voice over the rushing of blood in my ear drums.

“Who is this?”  he was more awake, his voice sounding propped up on elbows but bleary eyed.  He sounded white.  I bet he looks like Brad Pitt.  I shook my head at the thought.

“It’s Olivia. Is she there?  I need to talk to her.”

“Olivia.  Olivia.  Olivia.”  I could hear him shuffle in the bed,  sweeping sheets aside and swinging his feet over the edge of the mattress.

“Libby, her daughter, can I talk to her?”  A sharp pain spread through my finger forcing me to realize that I had tapping my fingers on the underside of the desk  and caught one on a sharp edge.   I placed the finger in my mouth.

“um, yeah, no, I know  who you are.  Um, listen, someone was supposed to call you a while ago. ”

The taste of warm blood on the tip of my tongue filled my mouth.  “Call me about what?”

“I don’t know how…maybe they called your dad.  I’ve been meaning to change this number for the last month.  I guess it’s a good thing that I didn’t, but still, you should talk to your dad or something.”

“What are you t talking about?”  My voice cracked and I realized that I was yelling.

“Sweety,” his voice changed the way Josh’s voice did or the way Uncle Johnnie’s does when he’s trying to calm me down.   My skin warmed with raising blood.

“I’m not your sweety. What is going on?  Where is my mom?”  I kicked my feet against the desk with each question.

“ Hey!”  His voice got louder.  The spring  of his mattress was loud and I pictured him jumping to his feet.  “Your mom is dead, okay. There, I told you.  She died in a car accident  in Mexico last year.  I was trying to do you a favor but “

“Liar.”  I slammed the phone down and climbed out from under the desk quickly.  Then everything went black.


Image: ‘those constipation blues

2 responses »

  1. I really enjoy your writing, I think it flows really well and doesn’t waffle. Was just looking to see what other writers are up to, and love the 10 Minute Tuesday challenges, great idea 🙂

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