Tuesday Tales and Lightning Strikes

July 15, 2019

Ahoy Fellow Fathomers! It's time for Tuesday Tales.

A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific prompt each week. Most of the time we write to a certain word. Once per month we write to a picture prompt, and limit our entries to 300 words. I chose lightning. You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds. This will be an excerpt from my new yet-to-be-named WIP.

“I’m not sure when I can make it through a storm without wanting to throw up.” Rubbing my clammy palms down my shorts, I tried unsuccessfully to rid my body of the horrible waves of rocking sensations.

“I promise you won’t feel that way forever.” Connor’s voice took on that deep reassuring tone when he truly wanted to get a point across.

All I wanted to do was hold my son- my baby sleeping soundly in his crib- completely unaware of his mother’s impending meltdown. “How can I raise him to be self-assured and confident if I’m a ball of nerves all the time?”

“Oh, now…”

“Stop it, don’t dismiss me, Connor. I’m not some drama mama. I’ve got a serious job ahead of me raising a boy not to be scared of the world.” My chest caught on something imaginary, and the room dimmed in my vision. “I’m a damn chicken.”

Connor’s hands balled into fists beside him briefly before he released them again. Shaking his head, he finally looked at me. “You’ve been through trauma, but, you’re the toughest person I’ve met. You’ll make it through this, I promise. You’ll learn how to maneuver past the triggers, and how to handle them. You’re no wimp, so I really wish you’d stop acting like one.”

Nausea turned to defensive ire. “Really? What a good, sensitive friend you are.”

“I never treated you with kid gloves and I won’t start now. I would be a crappy friend if I let you get away with feeling sorry for yourself.” Turning away from me, shaking his head, he walked toward the door. “I’ll see you later. I better get home.”

“Thanks a lot, you’re just leaving?”

“Your mom is here. She can hold your hand.”

“You’re a friggin asshole, you know that?”