When I was 17, I went through a clumsy phase. I literally broke things, like myself, that I didn't mean to destroy. My parents went through a disciplinary stage at that time. Although I have exaggerated their behavior in this story for the sake of fiction, I remember one night of not being able to handle the stress. I sat down at our computer and got into one of my favorite social-networks: old-fashioned email. In my inbox was the announcement that Write On! Books was hosting a short story contest. The prompt was "What would you do if you inherited five-million dollars tomorrow?" This was my story; I won an award for Most Original.
Rich, Red Whine
If I inherited five-million dollars tomorrow, the first thing I would do is press my hand to my heart and faint. And since I would be standing on the front porch by the mailbox, I would fall and hit my head on the rough concrete, causing me to crash into my mother's prize roses, bump and roll down the steps into the driveway. My dad would be coming home about that time, see me hurtling toward his moving vehicle, swerve, and drive right through our front window! At the sound of our beautiful stained glass window spraying into the living room as it shreds imported leather furniture, knocks antiques to the floor, and slices into a three-and-a-half-million dollar original painting, my mother would come running in her slippers down the hall.
"JANA," she would shriek,"WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO MY DISHES?! YOU ARE SO CLUMSY! YOU ARE GOING TO PAY FOR EVERY LAST ITEM YOU'VE BROKEN THIS YEAR! AND I MEANT IT!!!"
Mothers do have a way about them. Of course, dad couldn't take the blame. He couldn't kill his daughter, could he? And then the cracked skull, broken knee, and yard of skin I left stuck to the gravel would be added to my list of "careless actions for which there are consequences." Add getting the truck back out through the window, a shrink for the trauma, and I think I've spent my 5M. Thanks, but I think I'll pass on that one.
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