The Writing Group

He turned on the lights and squinted in surprise. Cob webs covered the place from head to toe, but the light bulbs must have been replaced recently. He shivered. This was where they were meeting? He could only imagine: Dark writers had a strange fondness of odd places.

Carefully, he worked his way inside, making sure not to get the thin threads glued to his hair.

The chair creaked as he moved it…Or was that a different sound? He cocked his head.

Suddenly, the light flicked off and his head was jerked backwards. A terrified scream escaped his lips.

©2018, Friday Fictioneers 12 January 2018

In the Shed

She rounded the corner and held her nose, trying to escape the smell. They’d have to clear this place out, she thought, sighing. A grimy toilet was inside the tiny shed.

She rolled up her sleeves, then paused. Maybe she’d ask her husband to do it. She hated cleaning out things and with her allergies, it was even worse.

She was about to turn back, when something caught her eye. She stepped inside the shed, looking into the dark space behind the toilet. She sucked in a breath.

There, lying in the corner, was the corpse of her long-lost son.

© 2017 *edited version*

Friday Fictioneers, 1 December 2017

Through the Puddle

The bench he decided to sit on was wet with rain, but he didn’t really care. It had stopped raining an hour ago, but even that didn’t really register with him. He felt totally isolated, as though cut off from the world. Staring at the puddles on the ground, he felt the world keep spinning around him. Men and women rushed past him. Everyone had a place to go. Needed and wanted. For years he thought he belonged to them. He was a part of this wave of people, moving from place to place, always in motion.

Now he didn’t know where to go. Didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to act. His world had come crashing down on top of him, everything he had so carefully built fell apart like a house of cards.

Something had changed, his mind registered. It took him a few seconds to realise what it was. He found himself locking eyes with a man through the puddle. Staring him straight in the eye, the man seemed to stand right before him.

When he slowly lifted up his head, he felt the bullet tear through his body a second before his eyes found the gun.

They had stripped him bare of everything. Now, finally, they had taken his life too.

©2017

Image from free photo stock pixabay.com

The End

I looked down at the tiny cars way down below. They were so far away, they almost looked like toy cars. I sighed and turned back into the room hundreds of floors above.

“You sure you want to do this?”

The man opposite me nodded solemnly. He was down on one knee, looking at me with pleading eyes.

“I can’t do this no more.”

I stared into his sea green eyes, wishing I could tell him not to do this, telling him to go back home to his wife and pretend like nothing had happened.

Slowly, I raised my right arm and pointed the gun somewhere between those eyes. There was no way I could let him do that and he knew it.

Silently, the bullet tore threw his body.

When I turned back to the window to look down, the two cars were gone.

© 2017

Sunday Photo Fiction, October 22nd 2017