You can’t Ignore Me

Don’t go to sleep yet, sweet one.

Silly naive girl. You can’t ignore that nagging feeling you have.

Get out of bed and check the front door.

Again.

Again.

Again.

What about the stove? Go back down and make sure it’s off. You don’t want the house to burn down, do you?

That’s a good girl.

Lift those heavy lids, my darling. You didn’t say your prayers. You know that if you don’t say them just right your family’s deaths will be your fault.

Come on, start over. You drifted off a bit.

Start again.

No! No! No!

You said the names in the wrong order.

Start again.

That’s better.

Check the clock.

3:00am

You have to be up at six.

I’ll see you then.

 

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This story nabbed an Honorable Mention over at Flash! Friday. This excites me not only because there are so many talented writers (who, I can admit, are intimidating to compete with) every week that I consider it a privilege to be among the few chosen ones, but also because of the deeply personal subject I chose to write about. Last week was OCD Awareness Week and I submitted a few pieces to different competitions that had OCD themes, showing what it’s really like to have this disorder. I am elated that our wonderful judges Foy S. Iver and Holly Geely were able to see the true meaning behind this story. They seemed to be able to relate to it , whether it be from personal experience or second hand from a dear loved one (I don’t know for sure).

This disorder is so watered down in many cultures that it has become a joke. I am so glad that I can use my writing as a tool to spread awareness as I continue to fight the stigma attached to OCD.

Here are the judges wonderful comments on my story.

FI: I love a left-fielder! The ‘cost of obsession’ was a popular element but “You Can’t Ignore Me” sucks you in, almost convincing you that the voice is inside your skull. The syntax drives that impulse to heart-root, compelling you to get up and check the stove (did I turn it off?), or the lock (maybe I only thought I turned it). For me, it resurrected dead memories of compulsive prayers whispered in the dark, never good enough for the ears of God. Absolutely gripping, friend.

HG: You…wow…Whether or not it was the writer’s intent, this story captures the essence of Obsessive Compulsive disorder. I had to take a moment after I read this one, it strikes so close to home. Beautifully done.

 

 

 

Endless Possibilities for Terrible Outcomes

Photo by Gidget

Photo by Gidget

There’s too many. Chest tightens. Throat closes.
Can’t… Breathe. They mock me, grinning with closed mouths.
Choices, choices. All leading to someone’s death. I…just… can’t.

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Submitted for #3linethursday week forty-five

Six Word Story – Delay

Photo found on Google Images

Photo found on Google Images

“Honey, I am five days late.”

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Submitted for Six Word Stories: The Challenge, No.6.

Take a look at the other entries HERE.

The Last One- Flash Fiction

They came in broad daylight. The rumbling of their huge machines resonated through the quiet morning air. We could see them charging for us, but there was nothing we could do. We were utterly defenseless. I did not quite understand what was happening at first. The men were intimidating, but there was no direct indication that they meant us any harm. Maybe they were just passing through, interrupting our serene morning for only a short time.

That was not the case at all.

I watched as some of the men got out of their big yellow metal monsters, carrying large weapons. Loud grinding sounds all of a sudden came from the weapons as if they were alive. Fear struck me, as I saw one man heading towards my brother, weapon out.

“NO!” I shouted, but to no avail.

Screams from my brother filled the air reverberating every part of me, but the men seemed as though they could not hear them.

To my horror, the other men started in on the rest of my family. I stood and watched. There was nothing I could do. I was a statue among this massacre. My brothers and sisters fell one by one. The breaking of their bodies pierced my core. Once on the ground, the men started chopping at their limbs, dismembering them. My family lay, torn and tattered, every last one.

I didn’t want to see anymore, didn’t want to hear anymore. Their screams still lingered in my soul.

My home.

My family.

Gone.

I looked down and saw that I was their next target.

I braced myself. I no longer wanted to live. I couldn’t bare the heavy weight of the loss of all those I loved. I welcomed what was coming. The largest man came slowly towards me, yelling something to his pack. They backed away from me as though they wanted to be as far from me as possible. The weapon roared to life, the blade bit into my flesh, ripping and chipping away. I wailed and moaned, mourning the loss of my kin. The man’s face, with his hungry eyes full of greed and lust, was the last image I saw. I fell with a loud crack thump.

I, the last tree in the forest, welcomed the sweet silence of death.

 

Word count: 384