I'm having fun.
Ok who's gonna post something they've written?
I've written lots of newspaper articles, I'm not posting them, I don't want to find them, besides they've already been seen...
Ok here ya go. First draft, straight out of my head, zero editing..
you don't have to edit it....tell me if it reads ok:
"
“Mom, do you believe in God?” Pearl , was sitting on the dining room floor when she posed the question. Ten years old, with long, fine, sandy brown hair, she had a half grown black cat wrapped in a faded baby’s receiving blanket. The cat’s eyes were wide, yellow, unblinking, and fixed on Pearl ’s face. The cat was not purring. It’s tail, sticking out of bottom of the receiving blanket, whipped back and forth, twitching the blanket and striking Pearl ’s thighs with each lash.
“Pear that cat’s gonna nail you, let it go.” Pearl’s mother, inappropriately named Joy by her own mother, who was perhaps hoping for a little in her own life (she was disappointed) was tiredly rummaging through the refrigerator, pulling out half-wrapped, spoiled packages of food and almost empty bottles and jars of condiments, then shoving them back in as she continued in her quest to find something for dinner. Forty years old, her eyes were bagged and injured looking. No laugh lines there, rather lines of disapproval and self-pity that molded them into peaked pools of woe. Joy had spent her entire life waiting for someone to value her above all others, to make her the center of their life, to give her the homage she felt she deserved, and at 40 she was still waiting. She tried, unsuccessfully, to force her children to provide her with that worship but so far had succeeded only in either alienating them or, in Pearl ’s case, turning them into passive and slightly hysterical underachievers.
“No he won’t,” Pearl said, giving the cat a little squeeze, whereupon a growl started somewhere in the vicinity of the cat’s bowels and worked its way out of it’s mouth, followed by an explosive hiss and explosion of angry black out of the top of the receiving blanket. Faster than a human eye could follow, the cat slashed at Pearl ’s face, but only just caught the inside corner of her right eyelid. Her eye immediately filled with blood as she, stunned, clapped a hand to it and started to cry.
“I told you!” her mother was immediately over her with a dish towel, moving Pearl ’s hand’s away from her face and tipping her head back. “Let me see!” Using a thumb, she pulled Pearl ’s upper lid up, and relief immediately showed on her face.
“You’re lucky, he only nicked the skin a little. Next time listen to me, you can’t hold most cats like that and he’s a mean one,” she said, holding the dishtowel to Pearl’s eye. “I think your tears probably washed out any infection…cat scratches are nasty but I can’t really put detergent in your eye so we’ll hope for the best. Now go wash your hands RIGHT NOW or you’ll infect it anyway.” But Pearl was already dashing for the bathroom, eager to see her injury and share the story with her brother.
Joy went back to her task with a sigh. The kitchen was a mess, it always was. She worked two jobs and didn’t wash dishes during the week. Or during the weekend. The kitchen was tiny and every available surface was crammed with dirty dishes and serving dishes and pyrex and ecko pans that were dirty and contained spoiled, molded or sour remnants of meals past. She felt that the children should take it upon themselves to clean the kitchen, but didn’t have the energy or the drive to teach them, aside from ordering them to do it once in a while. When she wasn’t at work, she was either cooking or sleeping, and dishes did not fit into that schedule.
"Landon!" Pearl called out as she ran into the bathroom to peer at her eye in the mirror above the sink. "Cmere, my eye is BLEEDING!"
