The Weekend Freewrite begins with the first sentence, and then is followed my two more prompts I do not look at before writing. The Constrained Writing contest this week, is to write a story that starts happy and ends sad or vice versa. I choose to use the weekend freewrite prompt to start the story out sad, and then end it on a happy note.
Thank you to @snook for our custom-designed, cool-looking borders!!!
My grandfather lied to my grandmother. I guess it runs in the family. My father did the same. We had expected a large inheritance from both, in fact, we were counting on it. But the only thing we should have counted on was the disappointment, and dismay. What did it matter? Well, it mattered pretty much, because they are taking all my grandmother’s belonging to a truck and then selling them at the auction as we speak.
I offered for her to move in with me, but she insisted that she leave the village, and go nest in an old folks home outside of town. There she stood, on the sidewalk with three lonely looking suitcases. My heart sunk. How could my grandfather do that to her? He made her believe she would be set for life. But once again, he fell short.
She tried to hide her misery, but she was my grandmother, and I knew her all too well. I should have prepared better. I should have known he would leave her to fend for herself, or at least known things would not have ended in a bright and sunny light.
He had gambled it all away in his last days; never telling anyone of his habit; telling her that he was volunteering in town. The whole town knew, but no one said a word to my grandmother. But she knew that; hence the reason she felt the need to escape.
Margaret had this habit of spitting. It began to get on my nerves. We were waiting in public outside of the old folk’s home, but my daughter didn’t care. She spit at every person that went past; trying to land the spit right before the person stepped on it.
There was a man smoking a cigarettte who watched from across the street, at the café’.
He would laugh every time Margaret would place the spit on the ground and the person stepped on it. Margret would say, “Yes!” and raise her fist in the air. I didn’t think it was so amusing.
I was shocked by how many people visited this old folk’s home. It seemed so far from town, but there had been more than twenty people in and out while we sat there.
We were waiting for the nurse to adjust my grandmother’s medicine, so that she could spend the weekend with us. She had been here for over a month and had not left since she arrived. A few of her closest friends managed to visit, but she refused to show her face in town.
No matter how much we suggested dinners, or activities, she would say she’d rather read a book, or watch television in the rec room. I didn’t feel that it was good for her to be so isolated.
Unfortunately, Margaret would remember that day as, the day her mother slapped her face. I really didn’t mean to do it, but she just kept spitting, and I told her for the forth time to stop and she cursed at me.
My first reaction was to slap her across the face. She looked at me and I could see she felt embarrassed, angry, and betrayed. I immediately said I was sorry, but tears filled her eyes and she ran across the street to the café’.
Just as I was about to run after her I heard the nurse call my name from the door of the home. My grandmother stood there thin, and frail, holding her tiny little suitcase. I knew she was looking around for Margaret, but I didn’t say a word.
“Thank you.” I said to the nurse, and then helped my mother to the car.
We drove over to the café’ and found Margaret laughing in a booth with the same man that was watching her. He smiled when he saw me approaching with my grandmother in tow.
“My name is Mr. Hutchinson, I am new to the area. Your daughter said that her great grandmother lost her house. I would like to donate my house to her. So, she can live out her days in comfort.”
“Why?” I asked; not knowing what else to say.
“Well, I inherited my father’s house here in town. I was just here to pick up his things. I planned on selling the house, but I think this would suit us both better, for the time being. We can work out the details later.”
“Mister, are you some kind of angel?” Margaret asked.
The man just smiled.
The End
Thanks for reading!
Made by @albertvhons
Made by @son-of-satire
