Weekly Writing Prompt No. 69. In March 2023 the writing prompts were all recipes of one sort or another from love potions, to changing the world, and life and nature. The first Hysteria Writing Competition short story winner inspired it.
I'm cheating I know, but it's been a bit challenging over the last week and I can't think of anything else right now so I'm copying the comment I made on the original post ....
Mum would always say the best way to get over a bad breakup was to go somewhere you loved and do something mad or bad. And my mother had lots of breakups. They followed her around like ducklings after momma duck.
When we were young we didn’t understand it wasn’t normal and we’d accept the explanation that Uncle Max/John/Jimmy or whatever his name was this time, had to go away and wouldn’t be taking us out for treats any more. As far as I know, they never stayed over. Or perhaps we were already in bed by the time they arrived, and they’d gone before we got up.
As we got older though, there was a succession of men through the house and after the inevitable breakup Janey and me would be bundled into the car and swept off to the coast to enjoy a long weekend, sometimes a whole week of shrimping, swimming and lazing on the beach. When we got back mum would be called to the headmaster to explain why her two children were missing without permission. She’d smile and shed a crocodile tear or two while he handed her a tissue and said ‘please don’t worry about it Mrs Jones, they’re bright and will soon catch up’.
So here I am following her advice. I’m by the sea, about as far as I can get from Judith and debating the maddest or baddest thing I can do?
I'm cheating I know, but it's been a bit challenging over the last week and I can't think of anything else right now so I'm copying the comment I made on the original post ....
Mum would always say the best way to get over a bad breakup was to go somewhere you loved and do something mad or bad. And my mother had lots of breakups. They followed her around like ducklings after momma duck.
When we were young we didn’t understand it wasn’t normal and we’d accept the explanation that Uncle Max/John/Jimmy or whatever his name was this time, had to go away and wouldn’t be taking us out for treats any more. As far as I know, they never stayed over. Or perhaps we were already in bed by the time they arrived, and they’d gone before we got up.
As we got older though, there was a succession of men through the house and after the inevitable breakup Janey and me would be bundled into the car and swept off to the coast to enjoy a long weekend, sometimes a whole week of shrimping, swimming and lazing on the beach. When we got back mum would be called to the headmaster to explain why her two children were missing without permission. She’d smile and shed a crocodile tear or two while he handed her a tissue and said ‘please don’t worry about it Mrs Jones, they’re bright and will soon catch up’.
So here I am following her advice. I’m by the sea, about as far as I can get from Judith and debating the maddest or baddest thing I can do?