There was little left of our party when the fire went out and shadows became only darkness. When the whispers got loud and the laughter faded.
The music we played became a drone, an echo bouncing through the oak, the maple and pine; till all was silence.
Just quiet.
And quiet leads to madness. And madness is too loud to fear.
So we ran from camp to camp. Screaming, crying, begging. Afraid. Our world unreal. We unrecognizable. Cartoons and caricatures. Madmen in the darkness.
Eventually we got home.
But when I looked in the mirror it was not my face.
originally published March 15, 2017
Ah, the old Catholic guilt kicks in and makes me leave a comment. But I truly enjoy your flashes of fiction, Daddy-O, and this one in particular reminds me of brushing my teeth this morning.
And in your masthead when you are talking about your love of telling stories in words, in images, etc, you forgot IN BARS! Hope you’re well, pally.
Well thank you Mr. Sullivan. I do appreciate the comment even if it was under duress. But hey! What’s Catholic guilt good for is not to force someone to do something against their better judgment?
My first thought is that you must have strange experiences brushing your teeth. But who am I to judge? Your teeth brushing mornings must be way cooler than mine.
Thanks again and I am well, hoping you are too.