Wednesday, September 17, 2014

Writing Prompt: Looking Up
It was only quarter past three and he was unemployed, divorced, and mortally wounded, but he liked his chances because he still had the whole afternoon left.
Forget the whole "two steps forward, one step back" thing, his way of thinking was more of a "one negative thought for two positives." Okay, so it was pretty much the same thing, but as long as he was still moving forward, or thinking positive, or whatever it was.
But he wasn't moving forward. He was lying on the ground in mortal agony. Okay, maybe it wasn't mortal or agonizing, but that sounded dramatic. Maybe he wasn't even going to die. Maybe it was just a flesh wound. He could still go on; everything would be fine.
"Come on, ya pansy," he muttered to himself, trying to convince his body to get up. He knew if he was not able to do that, he would just have to stay here until someone found his useless form and took pity on him.
Jessica's head came into view. "Hey," she said. "Were you going to throw that back, or just lay there all day? I thought the point of coming out here was so that you wouldn't have time to think about anything else." Her dog bounded up and started licking his face. He felt a little better. Or at least a little more moist.
"I think I'm mortally wounded," he confessed.
She gave a sigh. "In body or spirit?"
"I need to get back to work soon, so could we just do this?"
"You're a good friend."
"I know."
She gave him a hand up and he tossed the Frisbee for the dog, then rubbed at his head where Jessica's last attempt at throwing had inflicted damages instead.
"You going to live?" she asked, her tone itself answering the question.
"Such a good friend," he repeated.
"Are you going to take the dog back and search for some jobs this afternoon?"
"Sure," he replied, "what else does an unemployed person do the day his divorce is finalized?"
She patted him on the shoulder in what may have been seen by others as a comforting gesture but really conveyed, 'Suck it up and get off my couch.'
"Best friend I ever had," he said, as the dog returned for its favorite game of 'try to wrench this Frisbee away from me.' "I'm going to make you dinner tonight."
"You mean you're going to order dinner tonight and make me pay for it," she corrected.
He shrugged. "It's the same thing, isn't it?"
She shook her head and walked away with a wave of her hand.
Oh, yes. He may have been unemployed, divorced, and slightly injured, but who needs a job, a spouse, and an unbruised forehead when you had such a good friend?
It was twenty past three and his life, just like the rest of the afternoon, was full of promise.

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