Each week a photo is used, donated by one of the participants of Sunday Photo Fiction, and the idea is to write a story with the photo as a prompt in 200 words or less.
He stared at the confusion of chess pieces scattered across the floor like the somethings broken inside him. Wished he knew what the broken bits were, where they had come from, why they had invaded his life. No, that wasn’t true. They had always been broken, ever since he could remember.
They’d had another fight; she’d screamed how fucked up he was, how stupid, how hurtful. Didn’t she know that stupid and hurtful could be turned against himself as well?
No, she couldn’t know. He’d never told, never let her that far inside.
She wasn’t coming back. She was as free to forget as he wasn’t. Not every moment they’d spent together, every word, every touch, every damn thing about her. Alone with his fears and pains and failures.
At dusk, he walk to the sea, shards of brokenness cutting him with every step. One by one, he took the chess pieces from his pockets, throwing them far out beyond the thundering waves. Out to where she was now.
Pockets empty, he walked home.