Inside My Eyelids (3)

At work, Monday, I remembered my Mother, and the time she read one of the stories I wrote. A story about a lonely, depressed guy, who crashed his car, and got himself killed. And how it was his escape from the hell that was his life.

My Mother, bless her, practically threw the story at me. “Why do you always have to write such awful stories? Why can’t you write something happy for a change?”

I wanted to scream, “That’s not how it works! That’s not how I work! I can’t write what I don’t feel!” But, she was my Mother. I spoke without knowing what else to say, “I’ll change it.” Then, I did. Same car wreck. But he gets through it uninjured, no one else gets hurt, and he wakes up to life, and decides to become a better person.

“Better.” That’s what she said.

I smiled, and nodded, “See? I can do that,” while my brain screamed, “What else do you want me to say? It’s what you wanted!”

It was one more detail in life that turned everything into a game. A stupid, silly game, all about making everything happy, and fun. And the movies on the inside of my eyelids responded, as people started smiling, and singing happy songs, as they cut each others hearts out.

221 Words

It’s Week 396 of #ThursThreads, hosted by Siobhan Muir. Whatever it is that’s writing itself, wrote more words. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are always fun to read. And there are some great writers who show up weekly.


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