So she defeated it. She cursed it right back. She had the power and she was outrageous about it. She took advantage of the waves of possibilities — the waves of hope. She silenced the inner chorus of anguish from the curse. Victory!
Agonising cramps doubled him up. He swallowed, an acid river of bile dissolving his stomach. Ignoring her pleas, he’d scattered her meagre possessions with a targeted boot. Absinthe-green cocktails flecked with crimson spewed onto vivid tiles. He’d scoffed. What curse? Curled in the dust, consumed by flames, he whimpered pathetically.
"I saw your Facebook," he said.
"It was Instagram.”
My father's face reddened. "Why do you have to use language like that!"
I was fifty years old. Sitting shiva for his brother. And he was scolding me about a curse.
Your funeral will be a fucking ghost town, I thought.
A curse?
Really?
Not a jinx?
Same thing.
So she defeated it. She cursed it right back. She had the power and she was outrageous about it. She took advantage of the waves of possibilities — the waves of hope. She silenced the inner chorus of anguish from the curse. Victory!
Cursed (great prompt again)
Agonising cramps doubled him up. He swallowed, an acid river of bile dissolving his stomach. Ignoring her pleas, he’d scattered her meagre possessions with a targeted boot. Absinthe-green cocktails flecked with crimson spewed onto vivid tiles. He’d scoffed. What curse? Curled in the dust, consumed by flames, he whimpered pathetically.
This one made me sad. I want a little story where he ends up happy.