* Monday Motivations

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.”car-


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…

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