As you may have noticed, I haven't posted much lately. Well I've been working on something pretty cool and I'd hopefully like to be able to show it off soon, but it's still not quite done yet. In the mean time, I wrote this story a couple days ago and I thought I'd share it. It's not quite photography related, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. I've been calling it a short story, but I suppose it's more flash fiction since it's only 400 some odd words. I also did a dramatic reading of the story in a video at the end of this post if you'd rather hear my sultry (ha) voice read it aloud.
I don’t know why I do this to myself every time.
It’s always so dark and lonely in here.
And yet it feels like I just can’t escape, no matter how hard I try.
The walls are so thick that even the most deafening of sounds couldn’t penetrate them.
The air is stale and thin, yet oddly thick with the smell of something rotten.
No matter which direction I look, all I see is a vast nothingness.
A black abyss without a sight or sound to be seen or heard.
The ghosts of memories past continue to haunt me.
The mistakes I’ve made, oh the mistakes I’ve made…
They keep reappearing before me almost as if I were living an eternal nightmare,
never to wake from their deathly hold over me.
Every time I feel as though I’ve awoken, I realize that I’m still stuck in those recurring dreams.
I’ve made so many mistakes in my life, but I believe this one to be the worst.
Maybe I wouldn’t be stuck in this place if I hadn’t made such poor decisions…
I guess this is my punishment.
Trapped in my own personal hell without another soul in sight.
Come to think of it, my wife and kids should be here with me.
Maybe they’re on the other side of these constricting walls.
If only I was able to hear them, I’m sure they’d be calling out my name.
I’m not sure though, did they survive the fire?
I don’t know what came over me that day.
Something inside of me kept telling me, “do it, douse it all”
I didn’t want to pour gasoline on everything, but it’s like I just lost control of my body.
The other me took over and with the flick of the wrist, my life, everything I loved, went up in flames.
The last thing I remember was their desperate faces.
They were so frantic. My wife was running around gathering up the kids,
Trying ever so hopelessly to find a way out of the house in time.
Maybe they did make it out though.
Maybe they’re safe and sound and not on the other side of these walls.
I probably deserve to be here.
Would they even visit me in a psych ward if they had survived?
Ah, the mysteries of life that I’ll never know.
I wish at the very least that it wasn’t so cold here.
Maybe I should have left a note in my will that mentioned I’d like to be cremated.
At least then I wouldn’t be stuck here, slowly decaying in this small, dark coffin.