Terminal

PHOTO PROMPT© Jan Wayne Fields

What had started as a tiny whisper, barely heard among the unrelenting hustle and bustle of his thoughts and aspirations had slowly grown—so slowly that he hadn’t even noticed, save for the occasional headache. As it’d grown, so had the whisper, eventually turning into a thunderous, agonizing roar. Michael could feel the awful thing camped out inside his head, at the base of his skull. Terminal, his doctor had called it.

He fled to the forest when the thing inside started stealing control of his motor functions. There in his tent, he left the world on his own terms.

—

Monsters come in all shapes and sizes. Some even sneak up on you and make your body their cozy, little den. I wrote a story last week too, but never got around to posting it. Not the first time. Probably won’t be the last either.

Written for Friday Fictioneers.

Click here to read stories from the other Fictioneers.

Advertisement

Six on the Sixth – June 2016

Lease

Her time would soon be ending.

Vital

Some important pieces just weren’t there.

Jumper

Her toes teetered over the edge.

Flight

It almost felt like flying–almost.

Point

Sudden and painless, her life ended.

Words

The memories can’t fix the sadness.

—

Written for Six on the Sixth.

Happiness Isn’t Always

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Gerry watched her through binoculars. He’d never met her, nor knew her name. She fascinated him as she moved from room to room of the building across the river. She always looked so happy.

When she appeared on the balcony he hid behind the curtain, but not before he watched the smile drop off her face. Had she seen him?

What felt like an eternity later she went back inside. He lifted the binoculars just in time to see her through the middle window, slipping a noose around her neck.

“No,” he screamed just as she stepped off the chair.

—

Written for Friday Fictioneers.

Click here to read stories from the other Fictioneers.

Not So Perfect Life

Photo Copyright – Douglas M. MacIlroy

On the surface her life appeared perfect, but the veil of a neat and tidy existence was just for show. Behind the facade she was a mess. She downed a handful of meds every morning just to be able to cope with her emotionally abusive husband. The bruises he left were never visible, but the scars ran deep.

After he left for work she strung a rope from the chandelier in the foyer–not knowing for sure whether or not it would hold her weight. With noose around her neck, she choked down her pills and stepped off the chair.

—