This was a 20-minute unedited timed writing on a prompt given by another member of a writing group. The writing prompt was “We’ve got your balls in a money clip.” Or something like that. A man gave the prompt, and I wasn’t sure if I could write on that, but this is what came out. - Anonymous
Well, we’ve got your balls in a money clip now asshole. It’s about time too. Twenty years? No, god no, twenty years just for the middle-aged ones, but you’re not middle-aged are you? No asshole. You’re old. Get it? Old as in shriveled. Like raisins.
But you’ve been doing this for more like forty years. And maybe some of the women thought it was worth it to come to your office. Your forty-foot office with walk-in showers on either end. But more like maybe forty years ago they put up with your sex bullshit so they could hang on to their dreams of doing something beautiful, of making money maybe, of having a voice and using their talents.
Maybe they made it harder, the ones who knew about your bullshit and didn’t say anything. Maybe they made it even harder on the women who wanted to say something, whose voices were drowned out by the deafening silence of everyone who wanted some of your goodwill, your juice, your nod of approval so they could make money, make projects, make a living.
But eventually asshole, if not longer, the truth wells up, and if it is an ugly truth, those voices find each other, the other voices who would have said something but didn’t because they weren’t brave enough, or because they were being practical and protected themselves.
And the rage wells up, and with the righteous truth comes a well-spring of mediocre, self-serving people who only stand up for the good after they’ve looked around, taken a count, and then figure the majority is on their side.
Then to look good, they fire you. They pull money from your projects. They bully you in every way you’ve bullied all these women for forty years. What does it feel like to be on the other side of ugly?
Yep. We’ve got your raisin balls in a money clip now.