If you are depressed you are living in the past. If you are anxious you are living in the future. If you are at peace you are living in the present.
– Lao Tzu
future
Friday Fictioneers 6-12-2017
PHOTO PROMPT © Karuna
Better Late Than Never
Daniel knelt, arms folded across his knees, staring at the charred toys. When he closed his eyes, the images from Rwanda overwhelmed him.
Shit! Shit! Shit!
A hand touched his shoulder. If he’d come home earlier would this have happened?
He rose slowly, turned to his wife.
“You are not there anymore.”
“I know.”
“Houses can be replaced.”
“I know.” His eyes trailed over her shoulder, to the policeman by his cop car. He couldn’t see into the car.
Entwining fingers, they turned away from the rubble, walking towards the policeman, two children spilling out of the car towards them. Scopping them up, the family walked on, away from the past, into the future.
Quote For The Day 5-25-2017
The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations.”
― Anaïs Nin
Quote For The Day 5-5-2017
“The true definition of mental illness is when the majority of your time is spent in the past or future, but rarely living in the realism of NOW.”
― Shannon L. Alder
Quote For The Day 4-21-2017
“You can’t become who you’re supposed to be if you keep looking back on what might have been.” – Alexis”
― Candace Knoebel
Bright Sunday 2-12-2017
Sunday Photo Fiction – November 27th 2016
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. Read more here.
The storm rolled in the distance, clouds growing darker, heavier, with rain and whatever else lay inside. He didn’t know. Nobody knew. Since the Change, the Weather seemed a force of its own, changing on a whim. Those like him, meteorologists, were shut out. None of their knowledge meant anything now. The weather was, for all purposes, a living being holding the world, and him, hostage.
And so he waited at the window. Those who’d worked by his side were dying, one after one after one. He was next or the storm would not have come. Soon life and things wouldn’t matter. The apartment. The furniture, the painting, his favorite wine. Pictures of friends and family long gone.
In his world, alone was a physical presence looming just behind.
The building quivered. He let the storm roll closer, engulf his building in its death-grip. Climbing into the open window, he dove into the heart of the storm. For the briefest second, he felt the storm one with him. For the briefest second, he understood. And then, he was gone.
