ROW80-2 check in and end - 06/20
ROW80-3 Goals and Objectives

Bad Dad

This is for a prompt by Terrible Minds. Chuck says:

This week’s challenge (up a couple days late since for some reason again WordPress borked me on a Friday where I was gone from the house, grarrrgh) is pretty simple: in the tradition of Don Draper, Tony Soprano, Walter White, or even my own Mookie Pearl (hint hint), it’s time to write a bit of flash fiction featuring a bad dad. These fathers fit on the lower more sinister echelon of the D&D alignment chart. The question is: can you also make them sympathetic?

You’ve got 1000 words.

I dashed off something quick for this - mine's only 350 words. 

 Bad Dad

It was a huge door, but he reached up and rapped on it anyway.

"Who is it?" called a loud voice.

"Just me, a hungry traveller," said Jack. "Could I trouble you for a bite to eat?"

He looked up as the door opened and stepped back in amazement; the girl must have been fifteen feet high. 

"If my dad finds you here, he'll have you for a snack," she said. "But you do look hungry, so come in quick." She gave Jack a bit of cheese, a piece of bread, and a glass of milk. "How in the world did you get up here? I've never seen anyone else on our farm except my mom and dad."

"I climbed," said Jack. He explained how he'd sold their old car for a magic bean, a bean that had sprouted into a huge beanstalk - right up to the sky. He'd climbed all the way up, in hopes of finding a treasure.

"I can give you some of our treasure," she said," but first you must tell me all about the world you come from. What's your farm like? Are there others like you down there? Do you have friends?"

Jack was just about to start when he heard a rumbling and a stomping and a mighty bellow.


I smell the blood of an Englishman.

Be he alive or be he dead,

I'll grind his bones to make my bread."

Before Jack could move the door crashed open and there stood a huge man, thirty feet tall. 

"Aha, gotcha!" said the giant, as he stooped over and grabbed Jack.

"Please don't eat him," said his daughter. "You don't even like the blood of Englishmen - you said it gives you gas. And he was just going to tell me lots of stories about his world - I get so lonely up here all by myself."

"Yes, please don't eat me," said Jack. "Think of your daughter."

"Sorry, but I am thinking of her," said the giant. "She's gluten intolerant."




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Eden Mabee

Oh! so very silly, Mike!

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