Welcome to another super Sunday with Weekend Writers Warriors. Another icy cold week in the northeast but who’s counting. It’s winter, folks. The days are growing longer minute by minute.
I”m starting from the beginning of Reconstructing Charlie since you all were taken with the prologue. Again thanks for your support. I welcome all comments and constructive ideas. That’s what we’re here for, kids.
I heard the television turned up loud before I opened the door and thought maybe this time instead of beating up on us, he’d watch the Minnesota Twins beat on yet another team. The front door banged open hard enough to rattle dishes in the cabinet and Mom’s treasure—a painted porcelain egg—rolled to the edge, teetered for a second and fell end over end to the hardwood floor. The small egg cracked with the force of a bomb; Mom stared at broken pieces from a life she had long ago and suddenly her pretty face turned white, every freckle showing, and my fists clenched.
He staggered around waving a tire iron in the air; muscled from working a jackhammer for the city all his sorry and ugly drunk life. Cursing, he went after Mom but this time I was ready and wrestled it out of his filthy hands to hit him good. He lay torn up, eyes blank, didn’t move, blood everywhere on Mom’s clean kitchen floor. I stood there looking down at my father and thought how hard it was going to be for Mom to get the blood up and wondered how come he was the worst father in the world scaring all of us, hurting Mom and me. We were safe now because I’d done this terrible thing and I’m only fifteen and didn’t know how I could live with it.
for more snippets from talented writers:
Reconstructing Charlie by Charmaine Gordon