A Peaceful View

The man shoved the woman to the ground.  “Shut up you dang bitch!  You are worthless,” he screamed a her. “A worthless whore” he mumbled as he walked away.  Slowly she stood up. She felt the blood streaming from her nose and the puffiness of her eye.  She looked towards the doorway. There stood her seven year old son staring at her blankly. 

“Scotty.” a voice said, waking the young man out of his gaze.  “Why are you here? The burial ain’t for another couple of hours?” 

“I don’t right know ma’amm.  I reckon’ I just wanted to make sure they were putting paw in the ground,” he said.  “It had to be.  He can’t come back ma’am.  Our lives diverge from this moment in time.  He got what was coming to him.  Me and maw got peace.  I ain’t happy.  I ain’t sad.  I am just content.  It’s over.”

This fiction was written for VisDare 21: Diverge

Tough to write only 150 words about what came to mind from this picture.

 

 

 

Nothingness

A mirror

Simple in it’s contruction

yet complex in its dept.

Placed before us

it offers a glimpse of now.

A person or people

reflected in the moment.

A smile, a pretty face, a satisfied glimpse.

For some, the mirror is a curse.

A seemingly counterintuitive device

reflecting the soul not the flesh.

A faceless reflection 

illuminating pain and disfunction.

Or a blank mirror

reflecting nonthingness.

I don’t like mirrors.

Poetry written for VisDare 19: Mirror

 

An Audience Of None

“Good Morning students,” the instructor says profoundly. “Welcome to the first day class for those who survived childhood with an abusive alcoholic unscathed.”  He looks out into the empty desks before him.  He paces a few steps with his head down and hand on his chin.  His eyes are as vacant as the scene before him.  “I will raise my voice so those in the far back can hear!” he yells into the void.  “I am Professor Minnefield. Survivor of physical and mental abuse from an alcoholic parent,” he projects in a booming voice of confidence.  “If I can go through life and succeed….”

“Mr. Thomas, keep your voice down,” the nurse abruptly tells the man standing in front of the picture on the wall.  “You can’t go on yapping like that.  This is the quiet zone of the ward. Here, let me help you tie the back of your hospital gown.”

This fiction was written for VisDare 146: Vacant

The picture to me was haunting.  This is what came to mind.  I was limited to 150 words so ends upbruptly.

Till we meet again.  Good Day

Mind of Shoo

She Reached Out

There are many like us out there.  We all look the same. We are those who suffer at the hands of the alcoholic.  You would not recognize that we suffer.  We hide it well.  We often seek shelter inside our shell yet can’t escape the pain inflicted upon us. A pain received at the hands of someone we love.  Both emotional and physical pain.

I was one of the many. However, one person extended a hand.  Understood my reality. Sacrificed herself in order to make our life somewhat more manageable. Tried to make normal of the abnormal. A shield of sorts.  Often taking the abuse upon herself so it may bypass me.  All in the name of love.  A love for her only child.  A protector till the very end.  

She was more than a protector.  She was my loving mother. She did all she could do.  For me. And I thank you.

This is fiction written for VisDare 10: Whimsy.  No PFC Patterson this week.  The picture didn’t allow it.  It was difficult to come up with something.  This is all I could bleed today.