Freedom?
First micro-fiction for the "A Story Every Day in 2024" challenge initiated by L.C.!
Every morning I wake and it's the same old thing. Every morning I wake and I want to be there. Not here.
Not here.
Every morning life takes a crap on me again. All my dreams are of that place. The place where she is and where they are. Where it all went right and wrong at such a quick pace, but it's the only place I want to be, trying to fix what I broke.
Alas, no do-overs. That's what the fine, but lifeless-looking blonde behind the partition in reception said to me. No do-overs, no retakes. You can't go back even for a visit.
I try to float through my life with some determination, but nothing seems to change. Not the way I want, anyway. The changes that do happen, are small, slight and trivial to say the least.
A new donut available in the kitchen at work. A new t-shirt and jeans, every-so-often.
There. The moon danced during the daylight hours, while the sun pulled the morning shift. There. The rain drenched us with a multitude of different flavours. Sweets and sours were my favourite. But there was also some stunning savoury rains.
There. We didn't need to wear a lot of layers. It wasn't a sea of pasty flesh, but there was a freedom.
Then, things started going wrong. A crack in the reality. The real world started seeping in. I had been worried about her, the girl I left behind. She had become consumed with joy and desire and it was slowly killing her, or so I suspected. No-one else believed me and thought I was catastrophising. They thought I was looking for cracks in the paradise, like I was looking for something to go wrong.
Then I tried to help her and she resented me for it. She put up walls around paradise and stopped me from visiting.
I still visit, alas, but just in dreams.
Dreams that leave me full of sadness when they eventually end and I wake to my sober life. Being sober and free, I've learned is a lot different from being high and free.
*
Thanks for reading!
Author's Notes: This is my first piece of writing for L.C. maddening challenge to write and publish a micro/flash piece of ficition ever day of the year. It was very much a train-of-thought, spur-of-the-moment thing. You can find out more about it from the original post below:
To be clear, this is fiction and I don't feel being free from an addiction is the wrong path to take. Was just trying to take a leftfield approach.
About the Creator
Paul Stewart
Scottish-Italian poet/writer from Glasgow.
Overflowing in English language torture and word abuse.
"Every man has a sane spot somewhere" R.L Stevenson
The Accidental Poet - Poetry Collection is now available!
https://paulspoeticprints.etsy.com
Comments (11)
This is really an amazing short, pal. Loved the topic and you told it so well! You are brave for committing to this challenge. I toyed with the idea, but just couldn't do it. Also, love this word: catastrophising. Great work as always!
Different form of sobriety, but oh how I long to make right all that has been lost.
This is so good, did not see that ending coming. Cleverly done 😁
Loved this! You addressed the subject of addiction very well!
Awesome. Savoury rains. Great image. And we're off! The first hurdle jumped!
Well done with this one and kudos on the commitment! You're off to a bold start and I think the subject of addicion was adressed well.
Loved this story!
This first person narration style works very well for the micro!!
This was a fantastic way of pulling us into that avoidance of reality.
Loved this story Paul! 😊
Ahhh, addiction. I have no idea why my brain told me he was dead and is a ghost 😅 A very Paulitical story! 🍩🥐