Art. The most intense form of individualism ever known.
Pure art filled his hungry eyes. Windows – paintings mirroring shreads of a huge reality, each another reason to run away from his own life and recreate it from scrap. Balconies – masks hiding millions of known faces, seductively passing him by in the night, leaving him only a whisper reminding him of her. All beautiful, but none real and shiny like the light in her eyes.
Masks. He looked up again at the building while lighting himself another cigarette, then continued his journey towards the day when he will meet her again.
memyselfandela, 2013, Friday Fictioneers
Photo: Copyright –Kent Bonham
Yesterday I packed my luggage, now I’m ready to go.
I have lived so many things in this house, my first steps, my school, games, laughter, loss and sadness that came years after. Nothing changes our life like the loss of our parents.
As I walk down these stairs I can still see myself for a moment sitting there, waiting for mom to come back from work. I can see that smile on my face and that teddy bear I had in my hand… Sweet memories. But how life has changed…
We must raise from ashes and just carries on.
100 words, Friday Fictioneers
Photo: copyright – Jennifer Pendergast
The car stopped on the narrow road, in front of the old house.
He could not believe the shape in which the house ended after those years when he was far away. Now that she was sick he thought of the old family house for a quiet life. He must find a cure, he must find a way to save her, he must…
Oh darling, look at it, we’ll have to repair, paint and clean it all… My God, so much work…. she sighed looking at him with love.
No, darling, don’t you worry. I’ll build you a new life.
100 words, memyselfandela 2013, Friday Fictioneers
As he arrived in the square his heart stopped beating for a moment.
Her memory filled up his mind, the image of the days when she was working on this piece, their last month together, the night before she had to leave, her tragic accident.
His eyes looking at the statue he remembered her saying “I’m dead without you”.
He saw just now the dispair the woman silhouette showed, as if she had the premonition of what was about to happen.
“I’m dead without you too.”
There he was, eyes in tears. Alone with her, lost without her.
This is my entry for the Friday Fictioneers Challenge