“See if you can catch yourself complaining, in either speech or thought, about a situation you find yourself in, what other people do or say, your surroundings, your life situation, even the weather. To complain is always nonacceptance of what is.”
“It was one of those times you feel a sense of loss, even though you didn’t have something in the first place. I guess that’s what disappointment is- a sense of loss for something you never had.”
― Deb Caletti,
They say disappointment doesn’t hurt if it isn’t ‘real;’ if one shouldn’t have expected more from the beginning. If those words sounds bitter, they are. I’ve lived a long line of disappointments that, according to folks around, I shouldn’t have expected to go any other way. Can’t depend on other folks, they said, sadly shaking their mop-heads. Seems I continue to disappoint, just as they disappoint me. Who’d of thought this world was such a wash of disappointment?
Started when I was a child. Ma and Pa never much cared for me or my sisters. Grew up poor, stuck in the backwater of the hills, hungry most every day. Don’t take me wrong. I never hated my upbringing, nor the fact we was hungry. I just hated the lies.
‘We might be poor, son, but we’re too proud to take from them more better off than us.’
‘Don’t you know your Pop is doing the best he can? Ain’t easy life isn’t. Takes a lot from a man.’
‘Your Ma’s a religious woman, son. Just like an angel.’
Well, no. We might have been poor but it was cause Pa spent his time and money drinking. Never did the best lessin he couldn’t help it. The less you do, the better, was his motto. Besides, why work when the government will take care of you?
And Ma? Angel from Hell maybe. It was her strong with the strap, not Pa. I feared her more than I ever feared anybody else. She killed Tash. Might just as well, anyway, cause she wouldn’t give her no food. We tried to sneaking in, but Ma always caught us. Strapped us bad. Her feeling was every child gone left more food or the rest of us, meaning her.
Left home at 12, figuring I’d do better on my own. Worked hard, took my punches, my disappointments, kept moving. The one right thing I did – never going home again.
“Nolan Briar Tate.”
I rose, walking up the steps and across the stage. President Monroe held out his hand and we shook.
“Congratulations, Nolan,” he said then moved to his seat.
For a moment, I stood there, staring out over the thousands of faces watching me. Susan was there, front row, cheering louder than all the others. Hers were the only cheers I heard.
Stepping up, I lay my hands on the wood of the podium, cleared my throat. “I’ve been thinking about disappointment lately; how we let our lives disappoint us, blame others for our hurts, when we’re the ones responsible for shaping the life we want. If you learn to trust yourself, trust those who love you, disappointment no longer has any power over you… It is, after all, just another word for fear…..”
The opening sentence for the April 21st Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner: “I’m sure that the little girl in that back seat was signing us…” Please use this sentence (or this thought) somewhere in your flash. (200)
This challenge is open until 11:00 pm Friday night, April 29th, 2016.
To read more, click Here.
Randolph studied the dash. Right, England, so the whole wheel and pedals were ass-backwards. Bucking up, he started the car, hoping he remembered to stay on the right… no left… side of the road.
His phone chirped. “Hey, Ran, you coming?”
“On my way.”
“You remember the directions?”
“Turn at the lightning-split tree then straight on to the boonies.”
“Don’t have boonies here. Call it the way-back-of-beyond. Don’t get lost.”
Three hours later, he pulled to the side of the road. He’d remembered to stay on the left – most of the time – but now he was lost. He looked at his phone. No signal.
The forest hung quiet, trees casting him in shadow. Too quiet. The thrum of something stared in his feet, moving up his body. Why had he ever come to England? Honor? Prestige? Blah. Blah. He just wanted to be home.
A small metallic blue car whizzed past. Framed in the back window, a small girl stared back at him, waving, beckoning him to follow. His hand started towards the gear shift. The car drew away until all he could see was a dog staring back at him, teeth bared.
“But are they heroes or mere dreamers?”
― Gaius Valerius Flaccus,
PHOTO PROMPT © Madison Woods
The barbed wire reminded him of the day Snowflake died. He’d come home from school only to realize the big grey horse wasn’t in the upper paddock; realized he’d forgotten to bring him up that morning. One more time his parents had warned and Snowflake was gone. They’d say he wasn’t responsible enough, but he was. He knew he was. He was!
It was after he’d run to the lower fields, seen the tangle of wire wrapped around the red horse, when he realized they were right.
“No one is actually dead until the ripples they cause in the world die away…”
― Terry Pratchett,
Week of 04-19 through 04-25-2016
1. A prompt photo will be provided each Tuesday to be used as a base to your story. Please include photo prompt with your story.
2. Linking for this challenge begins on Tuesday and runs to the following Monday evening.
3. Please credit photo to photographer
4. The story word limit is 100 – 150 words (+ – 25 words). Please try to stay within this limit.
The blades on the windmill rotated slowly, enough wind to move them, but not generate power. He wasn’t a vain man, but he was proud of the magic in his hands. Steel turbines were one thing; this was a work of art. His last.
He was getting too old to be climbing up and around. Since Mags died, he was the only one left for his children and he wouldn’t risk taking that away. Some things, he’d learned, were more important; a different kind of beauty.
“Beautiful,” Morley remarked.
“Grand finale .”
Morley was young, had years ahead. The old gave way to the young.
He walked briskly away towards his new life.