Wretched . . . Pitiful



I sat opposite my father. Clamped my lips to stifle the sob working its way up and out. I gripped my ribs and rocked. My smart daddy.

            I glanced at my husband. “He’ll never smile again. Ever.”

            I jumped up. Scraped the tears from my cheeks. Pierced my hair with my fingers. Paced beside Dad’s Geri-Chair.

            “For crying out loud, he’ll never even walk again,” I said. “Look at him, He’s wretched. Pitiful.”

             A skim of tears shone in my husband’s eyes as he studied my father’s blank expression.

            I rattled Dad’s tray. Locked tight to his wheel chair. “Look at this! It’s a prison. On wheels.”

            I laid my hands on my father’s head. Like I was blessing him.

            “His hair is filthy,” I said. “When was the last time he was bathed?”
            Behind me, Tony rested his hands on my shoulders. “He can still hear, you know.”
            I whirled. Glared. “Hear what?” I said. “Blah, blah, blah! That’s all he hears. What good are three degrees now? When he doesn’t even know his own daughter?”
            I knelt before my dad. Gripped the surface where he outlined circles. Over and over.

            “Who am I?” I said. “Who am I, Daddy? Say it! Say my name!”

            My father didn’t move. Didn’t blink. I crumpled beside him. A moment later I scrambled to my knees in front of him. Stilled his pointer fingers with my palms.

            “It’s me, Daddy,” I said. “Remember me? How you used to call me Diane Sue with a Tin Lizzy too?”

            I smeared snot with my sleeve. Snatched the rumpled tissue Tony offered. Honked into it. I reached out and grabbed the sides of my father's stained bib. Yanked hard.

            “No bib!” I spat. “No daddy of mine, and certainly not one with a degree from Harvard, is going to wear a stupid, stinking bib.”

            Tony tapped my shoulder. I turned. Looked up.

            “Let’s go,” he said. “We’ll come back next Sunday. Maybe he’ll be better then.”

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For the Trifecta Writing Challenge, you should write a creative response using the given word. You must use the word in your response, and you must use it correctly.  Your response can be no fewer than 33 and no more than 333 words. Your response can be anything—from fiction to poetry and everything in between. We're looking for creativity, thoughtfulness, and attention to detail. That being said, we do not disallow posts for any particular reason. We're not easily offended--you do what you've got to do to get your story told. Be artsy; be creative; stretch yourself. Write until your fingers bleed. We want to see your guts spilled out on the page. Once you have written a response, you must then post it to your blog and enter your blog's url in the linky form on Trifecta's home page. Today's word is WRETCHED.