Dangerous Writing Prompt
This website is such a fun writing prompt tool. I like that it gives you the option to pick one of the random prompts by refreshing the generator, or you can choose the timed version which gives you a random prompt that cannot be changed. Some days I like to keep hitting refresh until a sentence piques my interest. Other days I like to be challenged by whatever I am given. Today was a definite challenge.
She decided to go to her father's grave...
A very difficult prompt for me as I do not have any relationship with my biological father. He could walk past me on the street and I would not know him. It's a pretty strong and likely accurate gut feeling that this is the better way. He could actually be dead and no one would contact me with the news. It's doubtful I would cry. Yes, my name is Leslie and I have a father wound.
I do have a wonderful step father, but he came into my life when I was already a woman grown. Even with many good years of memories and fatherly advice from him, I do wonder exactly what I would say to the man who helped create me, should we ever cross paths.
Which rather makes this prompt complete imagination. And not a very fun or happy one, but art is often born from such wounds.
She decided to go to her father's grave, to ask his advice. The bottle of scotch clutched tightly in palms that sweat in the midsummer heat. A thousand memories flooding into her heart. A hundred summers seemed to reflect within the shimmering droplets that wound a course down the glass. Fishing trips and reunions. Entire days spent upon the lake where time was measured by how far the water lapped upon her legs each year.
It would reach past her waist now, but her father would not see it this year. Would not see the fish jumping in the twilight. The laughter that would reach all the way from shore where the bonfire burned brightly and she begged for just a bit longer daddy. He always smiled and said yes of course. Maybe the big one is just waiting beneath the boat. He always wanted to catch that ever elusive bass, and she swore an oath over the grave that one day she would catch that fish.
The scotch burned down her throat and she nearly choked on the promise. When was the last time she had actually caught a fish? With a shrug she poured the golden liquid over the newly engraved stone that bore his name. Just a name. Dates. But so much life had happened between that small dash. The rest would be bittersweet, but one thing her father always taught her no matter what happened; life was a grand adventure. The question that remained; where did she go from here?
Wow five minutes go by very fast when you are writing on the fly. Reading over what I wrote there is probably so much I would change with more time on the clock. Really get a sense of being on the water with the light reflecting and sounds of nature all around. I do enjoy setting the scene. Except the final point - that I would not change. I suppose my love of nature is one thing that I really wish I could share with my father. For all I know he could hate the outdoors and prefer Sunday Football to fishing and camping. This is why "expressive writing" can be so helpful. It's not Just A Prompt; but a way in which we can deal with our emotions and mental state. Especially those that are due to stressful or traumatic events in our lives. Writing is the fallout from my father wound, and even if it has taken me to sad places, it is a grand adventure.