All righty then.
I have a new competition coming up. I have two entries and can only submit one.
I'm going to post one tonight and one tomorrow. Read over them and tell me which you like best. Here is the prompt:
A 20 year old male is sitting in a cab in his parents' drive trying to find the strength to tell them.....
The space in the cab was shrinking. The air was stale. He practiced some more.
“It wasn’t my fault.” No. “I didn’t mean to.”
No matter how he tried, it sounded like just another lame excuse. He could hear his folks now.
“What kind of idiot..” his old man would angrily wail. “How could you be so stupid? AGAIN?”
Stuart envisioned “Bob-o’s” huffing back and forth like so many times before.
“Now Robert. I’m sure it wasn’t on purpose. It will work out for the best. Stuart has just hit some bad luck.” Ma would chirp. She always had a good thought but he could see her wringing her hands and fuffing her hair worriedly—disappointed once again.
This time his screw-up couldn’t be hugged away or soothed off; not like all the bad grades that were products of poor teaching.
“Boy’s stupid” said the “Bob-ster”.
Or the jobs he’d lost.
“Kid’s lazy.” Snarled Pop.
Or the girls that came and left.
“Who’d be daft enough to stay with a loser like you?” he’d growl over his paper.
But not Ma. She’d cluck and nurture him, being excited for the few things that did go right for her twenty-year-old baby. For all the guff his dad dished out, his mother believed in and supported Stuart.
Lately, Stuart was doing well. He’d kept his job as a cabbie for a couple of months bringing in steady money for all his bills and even his latest gal pal Dena seemed happy and content. All that changed in the blink of an eye. Dena called and had been his fare to Dixon Avenue. While they weaved in and out of the thumping rush hour, she told him she needed more: money, man and life experience. It was over. She’d left his life and his cab empty.
“Figures.” Stuart muttered digging into his own pocket to cover Dena’s fare and one more disappointment.
A man snatched up his cab and barked a location. Stuart hopped into traffic and was on his way. Before reaching their destination, the man stuck a gun behind Stuart’s ear forcing him into the alley off Baynard Street where he robbed Stuart cracking his skull as incentive to keep his mouth shut. When he came to, his head throbbed and his vision was blurred. It took Stuart several minutes to remember where he was—and what had happened. Terrified of the alley and possible return of his new and not so good buddy, Stuart slammed his car into reverse and floored it. Popping the curb he thumped against a trashcan (or was it a meter?) and raced home. He told himself to look at the damage later.
His boss began to squawk on the radio, but Stuart was coming unraveled. He just needed to get home. It was a short drive. He turned the speaker off so he could think.
So here he was in the driveway getting ready to tell them again how he’d failed, disappointed them and screwed up. He’d sat here and practiced what he was going to say while he waited for his mom to return from her weekly hair appointment from up the street in town. With a heavy sigh, he pulled himself from the cab taking a few minutes to walk around to the other side. There was some paint transfer and a ding. The taillight was out. Great. He’d have to ask for money again. He slowly dragged his leaden feet to the door; shoulders hunched, ears already ringing with shouts and insults. He would take the crap from his pop and then Ma would come in and she’d help him—give him some money, hug him, stand behind him and it was going to be…
“...Here any minute!” his father boomed ripping the door from Stuart’s hand.
The boy was confused. “What?”
“The police, you idiot! You’re boss has been trying to raise you on the radio. A crazy driver backing out of the alley on Baynard Street hit your mother and sped off. Get in the cab. Let’s go.”
