Of all the places I thought I would end up with my parents and sisters on New Year’s Eve but instead, I’m spending it here in this empty bowling alley which I rented for the night. They kicked me out, see, apparently I’m not good enough for them.
I am a doctor who make 200-grand a year and still I’m not good enough for them. It’s never my dream to be a doctor. It was my father’s. He’s the reason why I wasted my youth in school. When I graduated high school with a Valedictorian, they came to my graduation just to scoff at me. “You call that an honor?” That’s my father’s favorite saying. It’s father-talk for not good enough.
What will it take? I wonder. Should I be poor like my sisters? Live in a one-bedroom apartment with two kids while working two day jobs and a night job just to get by? “It’s always the other way with them, isn’t it?” I mutter to myself as I fit my fingers into the holes of the ball and roll it down the aisle. “Strike, yes!” I sat down happily as the aisle reset. “Well, it look like it’s just you and me.” I say to my wine.
This is a response for Roger Shipp’s new flash fiction challenge, Flash Fiction For the Purposeful Practitioner. We are given the beginning of the sentence and we are to finish the story.