“Have now been 24 hours on this ghastly boat,” Daddy slurs, as he labors to lift his drink beleaguered head. A single stand of spittle still connecting his lips to a wet spot on his pant leg, glistening in the phosphorescent glow of the street lamps as we passed under them.
“If it isn’t a dream.” He adds cautiously, as he stares blankly out the passenger door window, probably trying to make sense of the host of stationary objects whirring past us as I guide my little car though streets unknown. All the while doing my best to hold my tongue.
There is a fracas in the street ahead. Traffic slows to a stop. I keep both hands on the wheel. My eyes straight ahead. “Breathe.” I admonish myself in effort to assuage the escalating rage that is quickly taking me over in proportion equal to the level of Daddy’s consciousness.
“Mavie-girl.” He speaks my childhood name with such innocence and tenderness, that it plucks painfully the single remaining heart string that runs between us. I steel myself against the encroaching emotion. Tighten my grip on the steering wheel. “Just missing yer old dad were ya? Stopped round to say hello?”
“Stop it!” I shout, no longer able to contain myself. My angered fists pounding rigorously against the steering wheel. “You can’t just do that! You can’t just act as if I should be thrilled to see you every time I am called out to scrape you off a sidewalk somewhere!”
As the floodgates open, I feel myself melting forward, my head coming to rest on the very wheel which steeled me against him just moments before. I feel the warmth of his hand tentatively coming to rest on the trembling small of my back. And- my heart ceases to race.
This piece, written in 50 word increments, combines the literary quote “Have now been 24 hours on this ghastly boat if it isn’t a dream.” – Voyage of the Dawn Treader by C.S. Lewis supplied by 50 Word Thursday and the photo prompt offered by LRose.
😥 Great details and emotions.
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Thank you Chelsea. I felt a great deal of emotion while writing this piece. I am left wondering about the seat of her anger. Is she angry at him because he cannot stop drinking? Or at herself because she cannot stop loving him no matter what he does?
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Angry at the hurt.
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I get your confusion as noted to Chelsea. I was wondering the same. I’d hazard a guess and suggest it’s both. And then underlying it all is the memory of her childhood love for the old man.
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Very true, and he plays on it well in calling her by her childhood name….
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I like it 🙂
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Wow, I could reach over and touch them both.
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Excellent. That is always the aim…
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You write off their feelings and emotions so well.
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Thank you Sadje. I am so glad they came through so well..
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You’re most welcome
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Impressive visuals, Violet!
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Thank you Susan.
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