At the Breakfast Table
Today’s post is based on a writing prompt I shared in a previous Daily Drafts & Dialogues post. Keep reading to see what I wrote, and to access more writing prompts.
What I wrote below is based on the following writing prompt: Write a dialogue that happens between two or more people sitting at the breakfast table.
At the Breakfast Table
My husband and the kids had gobbled up every single carb I had set out on the table for breakfast that morning within seconds, without a please or thank you, and without leaving me anything. Typical. And rude.
But the only thing I thought as I watched them pound the cereal and croissants like it was their last meal was: thank God there's that donut shop on the way to the warehouse my team and I are staking out today, because I will need every single calorie I can get. Otherwise, I would have been offended, cranky, and hungry.
I probably would have also been offended by something my sixteen-year-old daughter had said when we were discussing her wardrobe plans for prom, had I not been preoccupied by the new intel that came in late last night about our new target — a high-level national security threat who was known to run, literally and figuratively. Intel I had destroyed as soon as I had read it, as everyone else in the house was fast asleep.
“Mom can sew everything. So, it will be cheap. She doesn't work or anything, so it's not like she has anything else to do anyway,” Lena had said, matter-of-factly and without malice. To which Bobby, my husband, had said, “Housework is work, Lena. It is the twenty-first century we're living in now… or so I keep being told.” Which was more an admonishment against his new boss than her, who wasn't present— a Zennial who Bobby constantly complained of as being a ‘woke dope with no viable social skills’.
“I can make it happen,” I complied with a wide smile, already planning to pawn the task off onto one of my new recruits anyway, eager to get everyone out of the house ASAP. They didn't and couldn't know about my ‘real work’, or they would be in danger. And they were getting uncomfortably close to confronting the truth if they didn't leave soon, because my second-hand was en route and would be at the house to pick me up any minute now.
“It will be so vintage,” I added. To which Lena responded, “Umm, sure mom,” rolling her eyes, as she grabbed the lunch money I handed her, which I knew she would hold onto for other things I couldn't permit myself to think about just then.
“Vintage is the new orange,” Kylee, my youngest, chimed in, adding, “very chic and hip,” as she gave me a side hug, then meandered toward the garage door with Bobby.
“Ugh. Now I have to change everything we just decided on and burn all my sketches,” Lena complained.
Then, just as I was about to speak up, to persuade her not to change her mind so that I wouldn't lose mine, a car horn blared outside.
“That's Dylan. He's taking me to school today,” Lena said flatly, walking toward the front door.
“Oh, no he's not,” Bobby retorted, grabbing his bags and the kids’, ushering them both out the garage door.
I was milliseconds away from exhaling a sigh of relief when Bobby stepped back into the house, came over to where I was standing next to the breakfast table, leaned in close and whispered, “I know everything. I'll be back in thirty minutes. We need to talk.” Then he kissed my cheek and left before I could say anything.
[Write what happens next, then share what you come up with in a comment or chat thread below.]
I might revise, edit, or add to this draft in the future. Stay tuned.
Did you complete this prompt? If so, share what you wrote in a comment or chat thread below so we can discuss it. And be sure to share this post with others so they can enjoy some writing inspiration today, too!
© All Rights Reserved by K.E. Creighton; Creighton’s Compositions LLC. The above work is a piece of fiction. While, as in all fiction, the literary perceptions and insights are based on experience, all names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
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Today’s Writing Prompt
Writing Prompt: Poem, A Prayer
Write a poem about prayer or praying, or that is itself a sort of prayer.
Writing Tip
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What could he know, I thought, he couldn't know about the kind of work I do, I make sure I am careful to destroy everything that comes to the house for me.
"Bobby couldn't have found out who my new target is, could he?" I asked myself. He kept looking at me funny over breakfast, like he wanted to say something.
I'm pacing the kitchen, wondering what he knows, when he calls out, "baby I'm back."
I stopped in my tracks and looked at him holding the Intel I thought I had burned.
"What's that," I asked?
Bobby said, "the name of your new target."
"New target," I questioned nervously. "OH, you know," he snapped. "How long have you been disposing of new targets?"
"Targets!" I replied, not looking at him. "Bobby, you don't know what you're talking about. "
"Come on, Babe, don't play me stupid," Bobby replied. "I know where you've been going, I've followed you to the last target, and I saw what you did," Bobby said as he stepped closer to me.
I stepped back, ready to defend myself, forgetting I had a knife in my hand.
"OH, so you're going to stab me, your husband," he asked with fear in his voice.
NEXT PERSON, ADD YOUR CONCLUSION.