This blog isn’t dead, wooh! I’ve been both horribly disorganized and sort of unmotivated for a few weeks. Earlier this week I finally got my phone working again (thank you, Kunal!), and by that I also got my productivity/planning apps left and boy have I missed them. I suddenly feel like I know what’s going on again! I can plan my time! I can prioritize! So this week I’ve been slowly getting back to things, and it feels good. As such, I thought it was about time I got back to my flash fiction Fridays, so I have once again pulled a card out of my Dixit deck:
I’ve seen this card a bunch of times, but I’ve never before realized that the person in the picture seems to be sinking in quicksand or something. I thought they were just sitting weirdly. I think maybe that’s why the story took a bit of a dark turn:
Every morning he stepped onto the porch and sat down to listen to the birds. In his right hand, there was a cup of tea. His left hand swayed rhythmically, index finger outstretched, in pace with the birdsong. It was like having his own private little orchestra of musicians no school could dream to produce. The sun shone down on the overgrown lawn, the gate that hung heavily on old hinges, the postbox that had almost rusted entirely. It didn’t reach the porch yet, but it would soon. It was a good way to live.
They’d been gone for a long time now, he had to admit that. He was beginning to run out of food. Over time, he’d gotten used to eating less and less. Some days, his tea was all he had. Still, he wasn’t worried. He knew they’d come for him soon.
Every morning he stepped onto the porch and sat down to listen to the birds. It was a good way to die.
Like I said, it went a bit dark there towards the end. Still, it feels good to be back in the flash fiction groove. And now, it’s about to feel good to get into bed.