Sunday Photo Fiction – January 1st 2017

The idea of Sunday Photo Fiction is to create a story/poem or something using around about 200 words with the photo as a guide. Please try to keep it as close to the 200 words as possible.

He stood in the shadows of the balcony, watching the lights above radiating out like stars, welcoming the nights chill to keep him focused, keep back the mounting depression sweeping through his body. He’d meant to call Jay, but he hadn’t. Deep down, he hadn’t wanted to call. Deep down, he wondered if this time would be THE time. Would he? Could he?

Rock Gods died young, but he hadn’t. Not yet. His cell lay on the wrought-iron table nearby.

Call, he told himself. Call. Pick up the fucking phone and call!

The night lay silent. Still. Nothing around to stop him from doing it. Slit his wrists. How many times had he tried in the past?

Beside his cell lay the knife. He could feel the solidness of the handle in his hand, the sharpness of the blade against skin.

Call! Call! Fucking call!

Let go. Find peace. Let go.

He slid down the cold stone, coming to rest on his haunches, hands over his face. Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!

Why wouldn’t the voices leave him alone?

Clumsy, he knocked the phone off the table.

Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! 

Pushed speed dial.

“Jay, it’s… Chris.”


Daily Press One Word Prompt – Joke.


Them was laughing at me, I know they was.  I know.  I know these things, don’t bother to ask how. It’s a secret between Momma and me.

Course that was a couple weeks ago, before she got so sick and went away. Them folk took her, said it was the law, didn’t listen to what Momma wanted.  So I hadta go and steal her back. Folks made a mess of noise over her, but there weren’t no toehold in the silencing wall.

She eats her meals with me now. Mostly, that’s the time I see her. We don’t talk much, Momma and me, but it’s nice to sit at the table with her, the table Grandpop twice-back made with his two hands, all by hisself. I think I woulda liked Grandpop.  He wouldn’t have helped them folk wanting to hurt us.

Momma and me, we like our lives just fine.

But, them folks coming tomorrow, for me and for Momma. Momma don’t want to go back and I ain’t gonna let’em have her. We go together or not at all.

That’s why we’re sitting here at the table so long after dinner. I washed the dishes just how Momma liked’em done, straightened the house until she was happy with the look of things.

‘Don’t ever leave trash behind you,’ she always used to say. ‘Cause them folks will judge you by the trash and not from yourself.”

The crackle of the fire slicks my skin with heat.  I reach out and take Momma’s hand. “Won’t be long now, Momma,” I say, flames sweeping the floor, lapping table legs.

A day at the beach,  Momma.  You remember that day at the beach? Just remember Momma, we’ll see Grandpop soon.


Quote For The Day 6-10-2016

“Soon madness has worn you down. It’s easier to do what it says than argue. In this way, it takes over your mind. You no longer know where it ends and you begin. You believe anything it says. You do what it tells you, no matter how extreme or absurd. If it says you’re worthless, you agree. You plead for it to stop. You promise to behave. You are on your knees before it, and it laughs.”
Marya Hornbacher, Madness: A Bipolar Life