Friday, March 25, 2011


This is a short story I wrote a while ago. I know it isn't the required 365, but I am going to excuse myself from the rules for a little bit. It is 297 words, if that is a major problem, people can suck it.

Collapse. Onto his bed. Collapse. Crushed. The weight of the world. Infinite class, infinite friends, infinite world. Day after day he would do the same thing. The best part of his day was gone, and his own tragedy remained unaddressed. How could he even sleep, eat, drink, breathe without the accompanying happiness?

A quiet body shrunk into itself. His soul collapsed. Collapsed. Crushed. Held inside his shell. And he took a shallow breath. He felt miles of atmosphere enter his lungs, filling his body with life. Life he didn’t care to keep. Because what was a shell of a human? It wasn’t a human, it was a scarecrow. Propped up by sticks, unable to hold itself. He was just a scarecrow.

But scarecrows couldn’t feel their bodies collapse onto themselves. And he couldn’t hold it in. He spread out. And he let the weight of the world crush him.

He got up. He picked up the phone. He dialed, each tone ringing out in his ears to infinity.

“Hey mom?” the words escaped slowly, “I was just calling to see how you—yeah,” he wanted to scream out, his voice was gone though. His words barely slipped off his tongue. “I want you to know I miss you mom. I want you to get better.” He said that with strength. A sorrow gripped him, and he took it all in.

Then he heard her cry. His mother, his strength, his childhood. Crying. She was a human too, and she loved him more than anyone ever could, she had given everything to him. She wasn’t fighting for herself; she was getting better for him. And he would be there for her.

He took a deep breath in. The air was thick, but it surrounded him, a warm embrace.