“Hey, is that what I think it is?” I ask.
“A ballerina, there on the other side of the street.”
You shield your eyes and squint into the sun. Your ponytail bobs.
“Nope. Just some guy in a green shirt,” you say.
We don’t talk for a while – just keep walking.
“It’s happening again, isn’t it?” you ask.
You smile up at me and squeeze my hand.
“Worlds running together like paint? Disquiet slicked over everything?”
“That’s they way it is these days.”
You glance up and wink. “Kill yourself?”
“Not just yet.”
My wife asks why everything I write is dark. What can I say? Life makes about as much sense as the results of searching for “why do you have to write about dark things” on Youtube. Anyway…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: