As part of the A to Z Challenge, through the month of April I’m posting a story a day based on photographs by Joseph T. Richardson and prompts given to me by blog-friends.
Writing prompt: Lately he’d been feeling…
Provided by: Anna Tan, friend, fellow writer, and one of the magnificent Seven of #TeamDamyanti
Saturday nights like this, Don returned early, and tried not to get wasted. Martha didn’t like it.
But today they’d filled his glass each time he’d drained it, and he could smell whiskey everywhere, on his sofa, his clothes, even his socks and shoes as he tugged them off. He felt, warm, fuzzy on the outside, but the booze hadn’t dulled the shrapnel of pain caught in his chest.
Not that he wanted to talk about it, but lately, he’d been feeling like a dinosaur at a fun fair– on display, paint chipped in places, no choice but to stay put.
He’d tried quitting, but not very hard, because that might get him iced. In the last few months, on a job, when taking the stairs, he’d catch his breath after each flight. His hands didn’t hold steady on the boom stick no more.
Slim, Nugs and Toddy eyeballed him every fucking minute, waiting for him to slip from his rung, so they could step up. He didn’t blame them. At twenty he thought the old papi running him a dick wad, who needed topping off.
If he hadn’t fallen for Martha, taken the slow road because of her, they’d have made him the boss by now, his own plush office, what rum or whisky he wanted, two gun-toting fellas tagging him everywhere. Instead, here he sat, in his underwear, petting the boom stick by the bed. The steel barrel felt cold in his hands, but it remained his only friend, the one thing he could trust.
The Mac Balla had taken Martha, popped her off at church, and he had to get the slick who’d done it. Each Sunday he was in town, he’d met her at the mass, for the last fifteen years. She wouldn’t marry him, she said, till he changed his ways.
Now she was gone, leaving the ghost of a bullet hole in his chest. It was covered with skin on the outside, and full of fucking veins on the inside, gushing blood. Don unscrewed the bottle by the bed, tossed the drink down his throat. He willed it to find this bloody spot where Martha had been inside of him, pour whiskey on it, or burn it with hot iron, so the pain would come once, hard, and then be gone.
He heard the latch on his back door turn. One of the boys come to do him in, after drowning him in drink? The Mac Balla? He took the boom stick in his shaking hands and pointed it at his chin. He won’t let someone else’s bullet take him. He pushed the cold ring of steel in the jowl under his chin, felt his flesh spill around it.
Martha’s scent filled him, the smell of her hair when she washed herself after they’d ‘lived in sin’ each Sunday night. He listened for the next footfall, the whisper of cloth against curtains, the cocking of a pistol.
He waited. He would find Martha, one way or the other.
~~~~~
Are you taking part in the A to Z challenge? Do you read or write fiction? Ever write based on a prompt? How would you connect today’s prompt and picture?
I felt his deep pain… and desperation to be with Martha… in any way he could… 🙂
Just brilliant! Loved it.
Another exquisite work from the mistress of flash fiction herself.
A heart-ripping portrayal of losing someone special. Written with exceptional style. 🙂
This tale gripped me till the end Damayanti !
Wonderfully narrated. Sad that he had to end his life ….
http://afshan-shaik.blogspot.in
I’m glad I’m reading this in the bright light of day and not at night. My heart is thumping. Fast paced and exciting filled with dread. Thanks Damyanti!
Garden of Eden Blog
A very well written tale. Love the way you have handled the descriptions and captured the emptiness and pain of loss. Everything blends so well. I was intrigued and didn’t even blink once while reading. Great work Damyanti.
That feeling of men knowing others on the rung below them are aiming for their positions – I’ve seen it so many times during my professional career. What a hopeless man. Your descriptions of the gun are very compelling – “boom stick”, “cold ring of steel”. Excellent images.
Awesome! Truly well put together in limited space. Flash fiction is the best when done correctly, something I aspire to master.
I’m not sure what I would do with the picture as a prompt (I do know I like it) or the phrase “lately he’d been feeling.” Knowing myself, I might write it up science fiction style and draw some kind of counterpoint between feeling and thinking to incorporate the phrase-prompt. This was really gritty, Damyanti, and I think you could get away with even more vernacular than you’ve used (which I thought worked well, FWIW).
Vivid sad and I want more. Thanks for the visit today! Having fun with this challenge.
I’m so glad the challenge is working for you– all the best for the rest of it 🙂
Beautifully written tragic tale.
Wow–you are SOME KIND OF EXCELLENT, you know that? thanks for visiting so I had this opportunity to check you out! jean http://prettykittydogmoonjewelry.blogspot.com/
Yikes! Talk about desperation. I can’t imagine being so low. Poor guy.
True Heroes from A to Z
Wow, Damyanti! This is powerful. Left me with a hole in my chest, too. So much life we waste…
Thanks for the visit over at Quiet Laughter — always love seeing your name in the comments 🙂
Thanks, Guilie.
This story is connected to another I wrote earlier about Martha, and I guess all of us who’ve loved and lost know about that bullet hole in the chest.
I love stopping by your blog as well– and btw, great job with the report !
U bet we do. Bullet holes and Goddamn gushes of angst.
Flashed aptly Damyanti. Bitter to the core & flipped on the sour side
Immaculate
How sad! But this story was written exceptionally well. Very nice.
Another great and vivid account of the human condition, and when it all becomes too much..
What a sad life, but I sort of liked him more for wanting to do it his way in the very end. Great job sharing that “trapped” feeling.
I love this. Your words create a vivid picture – a mini movie – in my mind. It’s bedtime here, let’s see which bits make their way into my dreams.
Love it!
Like the characterization and the way the narration flows. And feel like knowing more about where it goes….very nicely done!
Beauty Interprets, Expresses, Manifests the Eternal
Gosh, Damyanti, fast and emotive at the same time. Read it with eyeballs popping….
You’ve captured the emptiness and pain of loss of more than just a loved one, but also of a life that could have been, well here. Good story.
Davey
‘The Path Through the Eye of Another’: smarturl.it/daveynorthcott
Nice Story!
So much pain here, really sad.
not every time can we handle the pain,the loss, we suffer….he took the exit route …free from all the suffering.
True on and all,
Too true II be true.
This is going to be eight to two attached
and the howl for the old ones who weren’t.
Iron dragons can be humans
who buy in bulk and buy one another.
Lately he’d been feeling
like an imaginary dinosaur
so out of date that he couldn’t even scare
a five-year old girl.
(Let’s face it…
after Pixar,
how you gonna keep ‘em down on the farm
after they’ve seen
Monsters Inc.?)
Thank you.
***
And you and you might be wrong
if you were among the one
that will allow them believe
this can be done to learn more than one,
or the dragon in the garden may be a man…
is he our own only hope
that can help our town?
Take anything on the day
and it still leaves us poor
and unrecognizable
to my original text
(which is pretty good for a Mayan.)
***
Tensions thee into my mission
and an avid listen
to become one with the machine
which
in their words
might become a bump on a node,
in their worlds;
a bogey on the radar
or give a madman time to ship,
were she to tell it all.
***
Dick you.
(that was thank-you, btw)
…mad that really only you
have been equally
compensated
and that early on
you’re more on the money
on the back F.U.N. and Y
(“funny”)
than all the rest
that ever were.
***
And so it goes from where it ends.
Hula room deliveries
and buried on an
old fairgrounds
captured
in a faded photograph.
You don’t know how
to interpret the butt of a joke,
meaning something early on
that makes
me so horney….
And let’s let poor
caveman UG alone,
(let alone the UG woman)
and the older elder too
and that old lady who
laughed
when laugh launched luna.
***
Run one thing on
to
try something on
fun fun fun
as a loan on laughter
in a letter that said
fun is dead
and you can’t play on
fun fun fun alone,
but the challenge to him was that this
…this the…
this Italian leather dealer
in each letter on a letter
adds up.
…the AIM’s not even close…
but this
intention
could have made a difference,
(…but it didn’t.)
***
I’m not having loved all of this and more.
I’m not loving this.
If you would treat me
as an acute writers group
maybe God already knew…
if so,
then dial me
but
you have no clue.
No one meant that as a car wreck, children.
no…
I was saying that was a correct assumption…
And by her now, this is goodbye for now…
Logo and you finally
get right question.
Goodbye?
(Something there is that does not love auto-correct dictation)
Very good writing. You draw the reader right in, but then naturally we want more. 🙂
Deb@ http://debioneille.blogspot.com
I love this! So many stories come to life through the challenge 🙂
Love where this went. A sad tale.
~Patricia Lynne~
Story Dam
Patricia Lynne, YA Author
As a person who prefers to read books in a series or epic fantasy length stories, flash fiction is frustrating. Because you arouse my curiosity and then it’s over. I would love to see where this goes. Great elements that make me want to turn the page. Thanks. Peace. ~ Michael
Thanks for your comment. To me, the point of a short story or flash is that it would prompt the reader to complete the story. 🙂
And it works! I just need the pleasing that goes with that teasing. 🙂
Reblogged this on rodriandotco.