Bird in a cage is a continuation of my last week's six-sentence story Stroke of Misfortune. I really don't know what to say about this one. Other than we travel even deeper into the melancholy of our sweet Evan than we did in the last week's six-sentence story.
The prompt was created by our wonderful girlieontheedge
Rules of the hop:
Write 6 Sentences. No more. No less.
Use the current week’s prompt word.
Link up at Wednesday’s post. Link goes live at 6:00 pm through Saturday late…
Spread the word and put in a good one to your fellow writers
PROMPT WORD: ERUPTION
Other Stories can be read here.
Six-Sentence Story - Bird in a Cage
Evan didn't know how long he had been lying there with his arms crossed on his chest and the sandalwood incense burning his nostrils, to him it seemed as if the flow of time had slowed down or didn't exist altogether and even if he could hear the clanging of what appeared to be dishes in the next room - he hadn't moved much since he lost his sight and the seer had led him to a bed.
It was as if he had been a bird locked in a cage but the cage was his mind and inside of his skull... the demons were as restless as ever by reminding him of all that he had been trying to forget by carefully packing up unpleasant memories and setting them aside in the corners of his psyche.
For him, it was easier to deal with the pain caused by life by denying it rather than spending time on dissecting his wounds and analysing his past - for the most part, it had worked... unless he had been left alone to drink and slow dance with his pain.
It puzzled him how calm and collected he had become through the years, perhaps not caring, there was no eruption of anger in response to becoming blind or the seer claiming to be his long-lost father, instead, he fell silent and kept feeling the rush of melancholy brought on by his thoughts.
He didn't believe that he would ever emotionally be healed but maybe the seer was right, he had to look within and in these past days he had no other option than to be locked up with himself.
He heard the seer walking towards his door and could smell the chamomile tea even before it flung open: "Here my boy, have a drink, and maybe we can talk after."
Links to more of my work:
If you like reading stories: Six-Sentence Stories, Short Stories, Romance and All That, Dead Poet
Or poetry : On the margins of the First Draft
and more reflections than poetry: On the Margins of the Second Draft
My band "Chaos in Spring" can be listened to on YouTube, Spotify and other streaming services.
Nice description of those nasty demons who remind “ him of all that he had been trying to forget”.
Thank you!
Excellent
Thank you!
The Accuser is seldom silent for long.