Wednesday's Words on a Friday

 

The original Words for Wednesday was begun by Delores and eventually taken over by a moveable feast of participants when Delores had computer troubles. Sadly, Delores has now closed her blog forever due to other problems.

The aim of the words is to encourage us to write. A story, a poem, whatever comes to mind.

If you are posting an entry on your own blog, please let us know so we can come along to read it and add a few encouraging words.

This month the words/prompts are supplied by messymimi and can be found here

This week's words/prompts are: 

1. protest 2. trap 3. analysis 4. confidence 5. gap 6. abnormal 

and/or: 

1. plaster 2. way 3. purse 4. neighbours 5. opener 6. record

Also including Charlotte's colour of the month: mouse grey

Here is my story:

“What is that infernal racket?” complained Mike as he stumbled out of bed holding his pounding head. “The neighbours are staging a protest,” said Irene as she waved through the window to them indicating they should turn up their stereo. “What?” said Mike. Without an ounce of sympathy, Irene said, “over what they say is your abnormal behaviour.” Mike groaned as he carefully sat on a chair, “you got any aspirin?”

Irene handed him two with a large glass of water. “You deserve that headache,” she said. “You’re in deep trouble this time. Getting blind drunk is the last straw. Remember that last lecture from your Dad? Our way or the highway? And then you pulled that silly stunt with the garage door opener and he got trapped in there for hours, missed his presentation schedule, and the position was given to Mr Watts.”

“Ma, I’m sorry,” said Mike, wincing as Irene pulled open the curtains to the bright sunshine. “I’ll fly straight from now on, I promise.” “I no longer have any confidence in your promises Mike,” said Irene, “your record of indiscretions is way longer than last year and you’ve only been eighteen for three months!” Mike lifted his arm to block out some of the sun, knocking his head with the plaster cast on his broken wrist.

A knock on the door had Irene going down the hallway to let in Sgt. Tucker just as Mike’s Dad came in from the garage with two large duffle bags already packed. Mike stood up shakily as Sgt. Tucker removed his cap and introduced himself. His thick thatch of mouse grey hair matched his moustache and his smile was friendly, though this didn’t reassure Mike one bit. He swallowed the rest of his water. Sgt. Tucker handed a sheaf of papers to Irene, who signed them and put them in her purse.

He then turned to Mike, saying, “have a seat son, let’s chat.” Mike glanced at his Mum who waved at the neighbors to cease the racket. “I have here a petition from your parents,” said Sgt Tucker. “A quick analysis shows a long list of misdemeanors, some of which show considerable skills which might just come in handy where you’re going.” Panicked, Mike turned to his Dad. “You’re sending me to one of those discipline Boot Camps?”

“No Mike,” said Dean Fletcher. “This is a proper Military Training base. Think of it as a gap year.” “And after you finish," said Sgt Tucker, "you might decide you like the life and want to stay on, we could use a few bright sparks like you. I’ll give you time to shower and dress, then we’ll be on our way."  “I’ll come in the truck with you and the Sgt. to the base,” said Dean, “and Mum will follow behind to bring me home.”