Joseph finishes his writing for the evening. He places his pen down gently next to the paper as he takes a last sip of wine. He rises from the chair and takes a seat on his couch. “Time to relax and forget about the evening” he thinks. Time to enjoy being. He then looks up and places headphones on his ears and turns on his iPod. The Cure’s “Picture of You” will play over and over again. Now time for his daily fix, a necessary evil that haunts his every being. He tightens the rubber band on his arm, exposing his vein for easy injection. He grabs the eight ball off his coffee table ready for injection. A quick poke of his needle and the deed is done. Minutes pass and Joseph’s body falls onto the couch in somewhat of a fetal position. His eyes affix upon a half filled glass of wine on his table. The background slowly becomes a blurry glow of colorful lights. Is this real or just his imagination? The music at this moment is so clear, as if the singer is directing the lyrics directly o him.
“So delicate lost in the cold You were always so lost in the dark.”
He tries to focus on the blurry colors in his line of vision but it’s not working. It is as if these are the only lights in the room. He feels his body begins to shiver as if he were cold yet finds himself sweating profusely. “What is going on?” He can’t tear his eyes away from the glass. The colors behind it are haunting him. Why can’t he make them clear. He hears more lyrics from the song.
“If I had only thought of the right words I could have held on to your heart”
He thinks of what he wrote just a few minutes earlier. The words on the paper next to the glass still in his view. The colors behind it still won’t go away. The letter is dark. A few hours before there was a second glass of wine along with his. Now that one lay shattered next to the front door of his studio apartment. Wine slowly running down from where the glass impacted. He stares at that image momentarily. It reminds him of blood from a horror movie. His eyes shift back to the wine glass. Alone on the table. Alone. Like he is at this very moment. Music blaring into his ears. His mind memorised by the colors behind that glass.
“There was nothing in the world that I ever wanted more Than to feel you deep in my heart”
Everything begins to become blurry as he hears one last line of this song. The music slowly fades and the room becomes totally dark. He lay motionless. The photo of the female who earlier walked out the door lay on the floor next to the couch. She now gone from his life. Now life has gone from him.
“There is nothing in the world that I ever wanted more Than to never feel the breaking apart, my pictures of you.”
This is a work of fiction, written for:
This was written for Picture it & Write
I urge people to join in, comment with your paragraph of fiction to accompany the image. It doesn’t have to follow my story or reflect the same themes. It can be a poem or in a different language (provide a translation please). Anyone who wants to join in, is welcome. This photograph will be reblogged under Ermisenda on tumblr and added to the Picture it & Write gallery on Facebook and Pintrest.
Mind of Shoo 