27 Day Karma Free Writing Prompts - Honorarium

The 1st 14 days are free. To go the whole 27 days there is a $27 honorarium.

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Tuesday, April 13, 2010

Day #26 - Theme: Tantrum

#26. Theme: Tantrum

5 comments:

  1. I threw the skateboard on the ground and stomped away.

    It felt good to pound the sidewalk. I walked fast. I felt my nostrils flair like a horse.

    I didn't look back to see if anyone picked up the board.

    I didn't care. I wanted to stomp.

    The skateboard's wheel whirled. My youngest came sliding by.

    You ok mom?

    I'm great. I don't want to talk to you now. I'll talk to you at home. I want to talk to all of you.

    I saw my husband across the street.

    I turned on the lights and called out the boys.

    We all sat at the table.

    I'm tired of you picking on me. I'm tired of you telling me that I shouldn't talk to certain people, I'm tired of you complaining about food, I'm tired of you telling me I'm chubby, I'm tired of you not doing the dishes. I'm tired.

    But we love you so much mom, the middle one said with quivering chin.

    Well stop picking on me.

    I'm tired.

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  2. No No No You can't make me. You always say I am high strang. Who knows what that means. (now I know it means no one can control me)
    I just do what ever I want. I need you to love me mom. Why do you always say you are going to take me somewhere then you change you mine. Maybe I feel you are lying?
    I am a good little girl most of the time. And you promise me things, so you can get me to do what ;you want me to do.
    You disappointment me all the time. I get so sad. and feel you don't love me. I am tried.
    Daddy will let me have it if you don't get it for me. Daddy will take me to the zoo or the beach. Daddy will give me the $.
    No No No Mom

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  3. cool video prompting today. thank you!
    _____________________________

    Let me in!

    I was fuming. The blood starting to rise inside, but on the outside I was cool, calm and collected. But why was my heart racing?

    The firemen said: “sorry lady, my legs hurt. I’m not going back up there.”

    I was in total shock.

    What did he mean? Was another fireman going in? Apparently not.

    The dogs jumped around excitedly with their owners. But, apparently I was too late. My cat was trapped inside the building. My neighbor appeared at my side. He was visibly distraught. Speechless. You could write a book off his facial expressions.

    I thought of the firemen in my hometown. Who had climbed hundreds of floors, many never returned. The smoke polluted the air for weeks, months. But this fireman was too tired.

    I wanted to scream. There was no reasoning with him. Then a concerned voice asked what was wrong. I told her. She was the press. Then they descended like vultures.
    ARGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

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  4. Yogurtland, just below 3rd on the east side of LaBrea Blvd, Thursday, April 7th, 9:45pm-

    Totally fucking packed.

    -A line of assorted people out the door. The night is hot. We make our way in, I grab a cup, pretend to squirt hand sanitizer from the 3 gallon dispenser into my cup…my daughters do not laugh, they do not smile, they are exactly one month from turning 13, everything I do is unappealing.

    We crawl toward the first flavor, plain tart, my favorite. Down the line is coconut, vanilla wafer, dutch chocolate, arctic vanilla, red velvet cake batter, pistachio, taro, butterfinger...it’s all fucking great. There are so many flavors, people can’t help themselves, some are pushing, some walking around getting in the way. Some try to make it to the bathroom. I spy the slummers, who have tiny paper sample cups…like little junkies they hang off the smores machine, taking hits and eyeballing everyone else as if to say, “no, you suck.”

    We inched forward.

    We get closer to the fruit and dry toppings bar, we’re still 5 feet away, when I notice 3 fat Armenian girls, no they’re Spanish…maybe Russian gypsies. They are inching in ahead of me from my left, kind of elbowing, I give them the benefit of the doubt for a moment, thinking they’re lost or looking. Then the first one takes one step more… and I let loose, “THERE’S A LINE!!”

    I say it clear, direct.

    I use a tone of impending doom and violence, and a volume that makes the glass in the store window brace.

    It is with authority.

    It is with a hammer.

    The first one does not heed, does not care, she will be heard, “If all here will pay, so be it…let’s see him try and bring his fucking sad heat.”

    She begins to talk back. Her words make no sense, it’s noise, she’s underwater, she is a cartoon.

    I begin,

    “WE, ARE IN THE LINE!!

    YOU ARE NOT!

    THE LINE BEGINS FOR YOU, BACK THERE!!"

    Silence.

    All those in the store feel sick.

    The power of this silence makes me more righteous, more violent, more angry, more, more, MORE, MORE, MORE!!!

    This is my time. I am right. This is my tantrum. I will be heard. This is my frightening moment. I will be the tormentor. All will witness.
    All will pay.
    ALL WILL LIVE WITH THIS IN THEIR DREAMS.
    ALL WILL LIVE IN DARKNESS.

    She begins yelling now, faster…her friends chime in like gerbils, I see lips, tongues, teeth and eyes, flashing, flipping, pursing… they are young, insolent, they are fucks. Her brother is on me, but I am faster. I grab him by the back of the hair, a large fistful and yank. -He drops his cup of pomegranate raspberry tart. I thrust his eyes into a machine of New York Cheesecake. He begins to fall down, I balance the weight of him on my knee and hold his limp, right hand up to the lever and gear of the dispenser. I fish his fat finger into the gear and begin to watch as the torque snaps it bringing him and his sister to attention...bringing everyone to attention. The cold yellow dairy goo begins to shit in his hair.

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  5. Tantrum... have fun? Huh?

    The fun voice says, I want to go to the party. I don't care that it's an eight hour drive. I want to go to the party.

    The voice that comes with thrashing around on the floor says:

    I want my daddy. Now! I want my daddy!

    I feel that little one inside. The innocent child, the sweet, precious daddy’s girl. The adult me says beware. I know I need to protect myself from the intruder who lives in my father’s skin.

    I want my daddy. Yes, I do. Somewhere there is a bright light. An intelligent, loving, conscious being that I can hold as daddy. Somewhere this little girl inside has loved a man, elevated him to God status.

    He played with me. I was his Princess. Yes, we had special games and yes, those games made my jaw hurt and my stomach ache. That’s the sour face, that’s the weight in my jowls. No smiles there, just a giant pout.

    I want my daddy!!

    You can’t have him little girl! The voice inside yells. For a moment I’m stunned by the harshness. In a flash, an angelic presence moves in – one that is filled with love and compassion.

    She wraps me in her arms. All of me, little and big. She says it’s okay. I can cry. I can release the sour face. It’s okay to mourn. It’s okay to feel everything that goes on inside. Confusion, longing, wanting to be held, wanting a fresh, light daddy instead of the trickster.

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