Friday January 20th, 2017

The exercise:

Write four lines of prose about: chance.

Took the boys to StrongStart this morning while Kat saw a counselling client. Max was disappointed there wasn't more time to play, as we got there just before snack time and then the librarian showed up to read books to the kids. Miles did not care about that. He only cared when I insisted on taking toys out of his mouth.

Worked the 4-9 closing shift at the community centre this evening. Pretty quiet night, which allowed me to leave a touch early.

Hoping to get some extra sleep tonight, as tomorrow is promising to be a long day.


There are certain moments in my life - such as this one, for example - that I pause to consider all of the things that happened in order for me to be in a particular place at a particular time. In this example, my phone rang while I was getting ready to leave my house, forcing me behind schedule by a few precious minutes. Which led to me being stopped in my car at a red light I would have otherwise never seen.

And then I'd have missed out on seeing the hunk in the red convertible who stopped next to me, which truly would have been a shame... though I'd happily have taken a pass on that if it meant not seeing his ex-wife smash into him from behind at full speed in a stolen monster truck.


Greg said...

StrongStart sounds like it was more challenging than fun for you -- are there other parents there to talk to though? That would help, I should think. Also, you mentioning the librarian reminds me that you wrote something for Max for Christmas -- how much did he like it?
That's quite the sequence of events, though they're all plausible and logically consistent, and they build to a very neat crescendo! Lovely work :)

Below rotting planks that formed a pier into the river that ran through the Unreal City the man in sooty rags tended to his business. His customers called him Chance, a name that seemed to fit without actually defining him or pinning him down to a single form. He stretched, cracking his spine, and stepped away from the prone form of the detective, the detective's hands held in his own, dripping thick blood from the wrist bones. Time to package them up and send them on their way....

Marc said...

Greg - eh, it wasn't too bad. But yes, there are other parents to talk with... when one is not too busy chasing after one's children :)

Max did like his story quite a bit. I've read it for him a few times and at one point he wanted to stick the pages on his wall. I said only if they were by his bed so that I could still read them at bedtime. I don't remember what he said to that... oh, I think we couldn't find all the pages then, and he hasn't mentioned wanting to do that since.

That's a rather dark bit of Chance you've got there. I like it though, and how nicely it continues your previous day's tale.