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Story For The Week 5-4-2021

 BY ATHLING2001

JSW Prompt 4-30-2015 Response

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psycho path

I couldn’t help adding this picture when I ran across it..

I am broken.  Horrible way to introduce myself, I know.

“Hi, I’m Broken.  Nice to meet you ….”  Not!

Horrible and yet, why should I be ashamed?  Better hair, better skin, better teeth.  Better body.  Whooo boy, that’s a big one. Bigger than I that’s for sure. Much bigger.  So who and what am I? I can’t change, can’t make myself tall or shorter (for longer than I can squat), prettier, nicer, happier.  Seems like we always want the thing that we aren’t.

But back to me.  I was born broken, or so I’m told.  A wrinkled little prune of a baby boy, covered in blood and cawl.  I noticed I was different when I was four, fascinated by the flies dying on the windowsills and floors, snatched from life by the Mother’s flyswatter.  Maybe the Mother knew by then, but maybe not.

I knew and that was all that mattered.  In fact, from then on, I was all that mattered.

Lots of people think of psychopaths as Hannibal Lecter, Tom Ripley, Becky Sharp from Vanity Fair or everyone’s favorite psychopath, Dexter, and rightly so.  The important point, however, is most of you *don’t* think of psychopaths as the neighbor next door or the woman in the cubical.  You actually think we’re…. normal.

Don’t you know being a psychopath is the best thing in the world but it’s not normal, not by a mile. At least not in the way the world in large defines normal.  But aren’t we all different?  Aren’t we all psychopathic in one way or another?

Maybe we chose our own lives, our own paths.  I’m assured by the ‘New Agers’ this is correct.  We choose out lives, our trials, what we need to learn in each life.  Actually, I like the mental image of me in my baby form sitting there, all the paths of the world laid out before me.  I could be anything or anyone I want.  A President.  A King.  Famous equestrian. A poor, broken, woman in a war-torn land. (Not sure why anybody would choose such a thing but then I’ve never understood the thinking of the bovine masses.)  Are they too afraid to stand apart and shine?

Out of all those choices, however, I chose this path, the path of a psychopath.  I am not afraid to stand out and shine.  I love standing out and shining.  What I love even more, is dazzling the masses with my shine while they think I am as normal as they are. The dictionary defines a psycho as:

‘a deranged or psychopathic person —not used technically’

Think about that.  Then tell me what path you would choose.

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Story For The Week 4-20-2021

The sadness was all persuasive, wrapped around them like a blanket of fog, holding them all together. Alone they would have fallen and quickly. Together, they managed to prop each other up and hold the grief at bay.

“Why?” was Susie’s endless question.

“How?” Macy’s.

He just wanted to go home and be alone. This was something he didn’t like or want to share, this sorrow. It filled him full, leaving no room for kind words or reassurance of hope and continuation. Dead was dead. The mere fact of the matter took away the last traces from his life. Soon even the memory would be gone, the sadness over.

Maybe, if he hung on tight enough some sprinkle of memory might remain; colored sugar on a cake.

“He was a good man,” Macy said, wiping raccoon eyes. “He never judged me like the fathers of some of my friends.”

“He always supported us in everything we did,” Susie agreed.

They both looked at him so he nodded. “Never said a word when I bought my bike.” The bike that lived in his living room so he didn’t forget. The father who lived with him so he remembered.

“He was hoping you’d get over stupid on your own,” both of his sisters said and laughed.

If only they knew. He hadn’t ridden the bike in over ten years, not wanting to risk more loss. The Doctors couldn’t tell him why the accident wiped away only part of his memory, only that he was lucky.  At least he had something left, some memories, some hold on the world of his past. Not people, but events. Some didn’t. Some people with similar brain injuries simply forgot everything. He might have been left with only 15 minutes of everything. Or 15 seconds. Or nothing.

Lucky meant he only forgot people once they faded from his life. Like birthdays. He remembered the day, the cake, the presents but not the people. He knew people had been there, but they no longer existed. Bare walls bracketed the memories; he the last person alive. Childhood. Christmases. Lovers. Nothing.

The funeral was over. They hugged, kissed, promised to keep in touch before another funeral brought them together again. They wouldn’t, but they pretended for him. He looked at them, his sisters, aching to commit them so deep in his memory he would never forget but eventually, inevitably, he would.

Turning, he walked away.  Why the heck was he in a cemetery anyway?

by

JSW 2-8-2021

The JSW Challenge is open to anybody who wishes to participate. Using the writing prompt, write a flash fiction no longer than 200 words and post to your page. The Challenge starts on Monday and runs through Sunday each week. Please remember to link your story back to this post so everyone can read your entry.

Use the following line to begin…

“Once upon a time is such a cliche way to start a story but here we are.”

Make April a Month of Hope – Hope For Today 4-9-2020

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.  Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.

It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us.

We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you.

We are all meant to shine, as children do. [..]

And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”
– Marianne Williamson