The Poetry Question

Discovering the Relevance of Words

The Daily Prompt – January 13 – Open the Drawer

Rules:

1. Use the prompt in the way it’s intended (starting a sentence, the title of the piece, theme, etc)

2. You may write in any format you see fit (fiction, non-fiction, poem, song, script, etc.)

3. Post your piece of writing in the comments section of the website to be considered for the ‘Best Of’ section.

Prompt:

Start a short story with the lines:

He approached her dresser with a bit of a slow shuffle, not really wanting to race toward the unknown. Hesitantly, he reached his hand toward the second drawer from the top – that was the one he remembered.

About Christopher Margolin

Chris Margolin spent more than a decade in Education as a high school English teacher, and is now an Instructional Coach for the Longview School District. He is also the founder of The Poetry Question, an online journal which focuses on reviews of small press poetry publications, and runs a regular series called "The Power of Poetry," where notable poets share their personal stories of how poetry has affected their lives. Margolin resides in Vancouver, Washington with his wife, and daughter.

5 comments on “The Daily Prompt – January 13 – Open the Drawer

  1. The Running Son
    January 13, 2014

    He approached her dresser with a bit of a slow shuffle, not really wanting to race toward the unknown. Hesitantly, he reached his hand toward the second drawer from the top – that was the one he remembered.

    Second drawer. He had been almost there.

    Seven years a brother-husband, working up the chain—first the auxiliary closet, then fifth drawer, then fourth—Then finally, second drawer! Servicing the compound Queen less and less, more and more time to himself, his interests…but dammed if she didn’t find out, caught him mid-coitus with the compound Chow. Now, nothing’s left but moving his first-aid kit and personals back to the closet, and return to servicing newly unearthed frontiers among the girth of her one thousand, and forty-odd pounds.
    .
    .
    .
    .
    RunningS☼n

  2. John Fugman
    January 13, 2014

    He approached her dresser with a bit of a slow shuffle, not really wanting to race toward the unknown. Hesitantly, he reached his hand toward the second drawer from the top – that was the one he remembered.

    The porcelain knob felt familiar on his skin. For a few seconds, he did not open it; he slowly caressed it, running his fingers around the rim. The last time he was inside this drawer it was
    at eye level and he was perched on a stool. It felt strange seeing it from this angle, almost as if it were someone else’s memory —

    His mother had taken his favorite truck as punishment for breaking the centerpiece on the table. A few hours later, she ran to the grocery store and left him in the care of his older sister, which meant alone. The search began. It was not an easy task, finding a single toy truck in an entire house. He thought that she would hide it where he could not go, her bedroom.

    Of course, this was not the first time he had been in his mother’s bedroom; how else could he find out what he was getting for Christmas? The first place he checked was the closet. It was the logical place to hide something, having the most room out of all of the potential hiding places. Plus, it had the added bonus of being precisely where she always hid the Christmas presents. He should have known that it wasn’t in the closet; she had left the closet doors wide open with everything in plain view. There was nothing! Well, nothing that mattered to him.

    Where else could it be? His next choice for a potential hiding spot was under the bed. That’s where he liked to hide everything that he was supposed to be cleaning up. He got down on his stomach, the long beige carpet provided a soft surface on which to crawl. He chose the Army crawl. It was the flattest of all the crawls and therefor proved to be the easiest way of getting all the way under the bed. Again there was nothing.

    He crawled back to the edge of the bed and laid his head on his arms, not yet ready to emerge and continue the search blind; he needed to do some recon. He glanced around the room looking for other places that she could have hid it. The vanity was too small. The top of the armiore was much too high, even for his mother. The television stand was too cramped and adults don’t hide things behind curtains. The only choices left were the bathroom and the dresser. His mother would never hide his favorite truck in her bathroom. It must be the dresser.

    He emerged from underneath the bed and made his way over to his mother’s dresser. It was much larger than his dresser. His head did not even reach the top. Quickly, he ran to the bathroom and retrieved the stool from in front of the sink. This provided him with enough height to see inside all of the drawers.

    He reached forward and opened the first drawer. It contained nothing but stockings, socks, and panties. He closed that drawer quickly, small red blotches colored his cheeks.

    The second drawer was already slightly open. Just a hint of silver could be seen through the small crack. He grasped the porcelein knob and pulled towards him, opening the drawer…

    The time had come to open the drawer again. His fingers did not want to close around the knob, but they had to. The task was left to him. He opened the drawer and retrieved the photograph. It was of a man in a military uniform, dress blues; his cover perched perfectly a top his head.

    Slowly, he shuffled back across the room. The machines keeping his mother alive beeped. They mocked him. He felt as if the whole world knew of his plight and simply left him to it. He glanced at the foot of the bed and remembered seeing the room from that angle. All of the hiding spots for his favorite truck, they beckoned to him. It would be much easier to crawl back underneath the bed and hide until this was over.

    He placed the photograph on her chest. He moved her hands to cover it. He reached next to the bed and shut off the machines.

    • John Fugman
      January 13, 2014

      I noticed a few spelling errors that I should have fixed but forgot. My bad! Just ignore them haha porcelain and armoire!

  3. Kelsye Shaw- Period 1
    January 21, 2014

    He approached her dresser with a bit of a slow shuffle, not really wanting to race toward the unknown. Hesitantly, he reached his hand toward the second drawer from the top – that was the one he remembered.

    It was almost to painful to do, to even look at the once familiar dresser. The memories that came with it, started to flood his mind, so many of them all at once racing around so quickly, all of these memories that he had tried so hard to forget. Now they were all back. His hand reluctantly touched the dresser, he cringed as the memories hurt so bad it was like finding out the truth all over again. The pain had felt like he was the one being stabbed with a knife over and over again.
    He started to force himmself to remember, before he could allow himself to open the drawer.
    He had alwasy blammed himself, he should have been there for her, and to this day he will still swear, if he had been there, he could have saved her.
    He had gone on a buisness trip, nothing to long, just a night on the other side of town. His wife, being caring, and worried as always, had insisted that he not make the long travel, at night and whle he was tired.

    He had arrived back home, to the sound of sirens and his house blocked off by the police. All the feeling had left his body. He wasnt even thinking straight, he ran out of the car unvoluntarily and started fumbling for the front doorHe couldnt even remember if he had put the car in park, or if he had even turned it off. Two police men had stopped him, and started shouting questions at him. That is when he started to discover teh terrible truth of what had ahppened to his wife.
    Someone had broken into the house, and his wife had tried to stop them. There were signs of struggle, but it hadnt been enough. She had been brutally murdered.

    Tears started to run down his face. He now let himself open the drawer that he had his hand on. His wife had putten her wedding rings in there, before she had gotten ready for bed. He started to wcry harder, as he thought of his amazing wife. He held onto the ring and rmembered all the good times thtat they had had, and how she will alwasya and forever be the love of his life. He closed the drawer and kept the ring in his hand, he slowly walked through the house, and he had finally been able to understand. It wasnt his fault, and that he was sure that his wife,m didint blame him eaither. He said a silently thank you to his wife, and he started to walk out of the house, with a new persepective on his life.

  4. Vinny Lam
    January 28, 2014

    He approached her dresser with a bit of a slow shuffle, not really wanting to race toward the unknown. Hesitantly, he reached his hand toward the second drawer from the top – that was the one he remembered.
    He remembered that, that drawer had “the note” she wrote him. He opens the drawer slowly. Nothing was in the drawer but at the bottom of it was a little note card.
    He tears up and walks across the room to sit on her bed.
    He opens the his sister’s suicide note.
    “Donald smile. It wasn’t your fault that I was unhappy. You made me the happiest out of everyone. So don’t blame your self. Just live and be happy and I’ll watch you from up here. Be happy for the both of us. Love ~ Sally”.
    He smiles and says
    “Okay little sis. I’ve live a happy life for the both of us.”
    He then stands up and grabs a push pin from the dusty desk.
    He pins the note above the pretty pink bed and smiles at it.
    He kisses his hand and puts the kiss on the note.

    “Good bye” he says gently.

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This entry was posted on January 13, 2014 by in THE DAILY PROMPT and tagged , , , , , , , , .

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