Father and Son
July 18th 2008 07:09
Hi! My name is Toni and this is my blog on writing prompts. Sometimes inspiration strikes me anywhere, sometimes I badly need a jumpstart. This blog helps with those jumpstarts, when you need a little push. Hopefully the writing prompts open your mind further to new ideas and help encourage you into writing more. A little writing help never hurt!
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Comment by Dianna G
I Wish This Was 42
Fictional Worlds
As they walked into the sunset together, he told his son the stories of his grandmother's death. Her suicide by hanging, when she was just about to become an invalid. The boy was young, maybe too young for this story, but he listened attentively.
And then they got home-hanging in the barn's doorway was the boy's own dead grandmother.
Just old enough that she was losing her ability to walk.
(I am NOT MORBID.)
Nice picture.
~Dianna
Comment by What's Your Story?
What's Your Story?
Big Day Plunge
Comment by Dianna G
I Wish This Was 42
Fictional Worlds
I came up with a song once. It was a parody.
"People burning, people burning, draw nearer, draw nearer..."
I'm a little morbid, running on a lack of sleep, and very excited because I just realized I've been blogging for over a year.
~Dianna
Comment by tlcorbin
If I had a dad, he could teach me things.
If I had a dad, maybe mom wouldn't cry.
If I had a dad, I wouldn't be afraid.
If I had a dad, at home.
If I had a dad . . .
All things would be possible.
Toni, I followed your instructions and posted this on Sleezers World.
Raven
Comment by Arthur Williams
Cooking Ramble
GOING IT ALONE
The voices of parents roll across the land, like the voice of god, calling the angels home. Almost as if by magic parents materilise from the sun at first like shadows. It is almost as if the Arcangels themselves have come.
I watch the departing shadows, as the little angels share tales of dragons slain and battes won. Parents listening earnestly, never doubting. Alone as the field is layed to rest in a blaket of darkness, I wonder "Home, where is home?" I than start my journey back to the prison where I reside.
Inevitably we grow and I now am the man, the child long forgotten. As I walk through the the open field, at that specal time of night, and the golden spotlight shines. I almost hear the distant echo of the children, me as a child and I take his hand proudly, no longer waiting for the night to hide my shame and I listen to the tales never shared.
Comment by delish
that you won't enjoy
times with a Dad
like I, or yours
never really had
mind you
your parents
had their moments
with your grandparents
and I sometimes think
it's bad of me
to expect
we will be greater, better versions
of them
but we really intend to be
and I really hope
you'd always be proud
and thankful
that your Dad is a better Dad
than your Dad's
and my Dad's
for one... your father will
always love me
on that, am sure of
and another thing
for Pappie
we don't just come first
we are his life
his reason for being
and he would always
rather die
a thousand deaths
than hurt you
or me
so I guess it's not weird
after all
to fear
you won't get to enjoy him
just because
it's possible
and that would be really sad