This is how it’s done: you tear the veil from the pointless rituals holding you back like crumbling concrete before the flood. You rise up and shake off the water – listening as the world rushes in like the sound of your ears popping. You press your palms against the lid and push, flinging the white roses aside, petals flying like shingles in a hurricane. Then you grasp the table and upend it – smiling as the sympathy cards scatter like doves from a gunshot.
You feel gravity lose its hold, and you’re free of the clouds at last.
Taking a bit of a risk for my story this week, but life is about pushing the limits. Every Friday, writers from all around the world write 100 word (or thereabouts) flash fiction based on a photo posted that Wednesday on Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ blog.
I welcome constructive criticism; without it I cannot grow as a writer. The weekly photo that inspired this story is below: