Today’s prompt: A lover’s quarrel where something gets broken [suggested by storymanjake]. https://gointothestory.blcklst.com/2014-scene-writing-challenge-day-3-e723d43192fb

TW: Yelling, aggression
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The door swung open. My anxiety increased by the second. He appeared at the opening, holding his briefcase. “Honey I’m home!” he called.
“Hey,” I said from my seat. “How was your day?”
“It was alright. Yours?”
“It was okay,” I said. “Can we talk?”
“About what?” he asked calmly, taking his coat off as he did so.
“Well, it’s kind of important,” I said, slightly annoyed by his relaxed attitude. “You may want to sit down.”
“Why?” he asked, his face becoming concerned. “Is something wrong?”

Hey so I'm not doing a Writing Prompt for this week, I'm going to reflect on the WPW's (i want to make that a thing because it's so hard to type out "Writing Prompt Wednesday") so far. It's crazy that I started this series back in January and now we're already here. No one really reads them, but they're really good for me to do. It's kind of like leg day. No one really cares about your legs and how muscular they are, but the more you work them out, the more you can do other things that people DO care about (or maybe people really care about your legs, idk, you do you). 
I still want to branch out more than I am, so please, please leave your writing prompts in the comments! It helps me so much to not just write the easiest stuff for me and instead to broaden my horizons. It's also super cool if you guys come up with your own prompts, I'd love to use some of those.
I'm going to keep doing this series for a while, so make sure you keep reading. If a story reminds you of someone, tell them that! I want as many people as possible to feel connected to my work. Anyways, thank you all so much for reading and I'll see you guys next post!

Writerial Out.

9. Your character is on a journey. However, they are interrupted by a natural disaster OR an accident. https://letswriteashortstory.com/short-story-ideas/
 
TW: Death
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   I was on my way. No matter how much I willed the process to go faster, nothing happened. No one could know how desperate I was. How could they? I tried to tell myself that as I passed through the airport, going past lazy shops, the painfully slow security, and, now, waiting for the plane.
    I’d gotten the call this morning. It’d immediately changed my life. The man on the phone-the doctor-had said hello. He had asked if I was Larson Fullen’s son. I’d said yes. Then he’d told me.
    “Your father is very sick. We’re not sure how much longer he has. He wanted us to call you and tell you this.”
    For a few moments, I’d just sat there, stunned, unable to say a word. The doctor eventually hung up on me. I was frozen in my living room, staring at my wall, wondering how it could be true. Then everything started working again-all at once. I jumped up and bought the first ticket leaving to Denver. I got into my car and started driving. I didn’t even pack a bag.
    I pushed those thoughts from my mind now. He’s okay, I told myself. You’re coming to see him. He’ll be fine until then. Somewhere in the back of my mind was the thought that I didn’t know what I’d do once I’d seen him. Once he couldn’t hold on. But I pushed that from my mind as well.
    I wasn’t hungry, but my plane wouldn’t arrive for another hour and I had time to kill. I bought myself a burger from McDonalds and tried to focus only on that for a little while. It didn’t work. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about my dad, sick and scared and dying.
    I remembered the time we’d spent together-wrestling on the grass and playing video games. He’d bought me my first computer on my 8th birthday. He’d driven me around, not telling me where we were going, until we pulled into the Best Buy parking lot. I was so thrilled that I felt like I’d explode. Then he had helped me spend all night setting it up. I don’t think I got off of that computer for a week-even my meals were eaten in my room, in front of that screen. My mom frowned at this, but my dad had just stood back grinning, telling her to let me enjoy it.
    Tears came to my eyes and I threw away the rest of my burger. I had good timing, too, because people were starting to board my plane. I tapped my foot impatiently until I was climbing on that plane-I was one of the last to do so. I sat in between two people and grabbed my phone to turn it onto Airplane mode when it rang.
    “Hello, is this Jonathan Fullen?”
    “Yes, that’s me.”
    “Hi, this is Nancy Greek from St. Greene’s Hospital. It’s about your father.”
    I felt my stomach fill with dread. “Is something wrong?”
    “Yes,” she said. “Larson died an hour ago.”
    Everything went into slow motion. I could hear Nancy saying, “Hello? Jonathan? Are you there?” but I didn’t register it. I stayed frozen until the flight attendant’s speech shook me out of it.
    Dead. Dead. How could this had happened? I was on my way-I was going to see him in three hours! He couldn’t be dead. He was still hanging on, laying there on that hospital bed. This must’ve been some sort of joke, right? Yet deep inside of me, I knew it was true. My father was gone.
    
    I got to Denver Airport a few hours later and stood there, stunned. Unsure of what else to do, I made my way to baggage claim and was on the escalator when I broke down. I don’t know how long I sat on that floor, sobbing my eyes out. I don’t know how many people passed me-though I could feel their stares on my head.
I know that when I finally got up, my eyes red and puffy, it was turning dark. I knew that he was dead. My father-the one man I’d known my whole life, the man I trusted more than anything-was gone. It seemed unreal, yet I knew it was. I stood shakily, and left the airport, wondering how I’d be able to continue without him by my side.

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