I remember the darkness, the glitter of frost and carnivore eyes from depth of the woods. I remember how much the old apple tree’s branches resembled skeletal hands trying to catch me while running, I remember my desperate rush from the warmth of the house to the outhouse and how much I dreaded my needs before bedtime.
Now I sit in my comfort looking at darkness outside, missing my monsters. I miss being the hero of doing my doings while being alive. I miss the thrill of survival as if my shitting in comfort is being in part already dying.
Joining very late with some reflection of my childhood memories of going to the outhouse.
Friday Fictioneers is all about trying to find a story in an image and present this in 100 words. Rochelle hosts and set the example. Try it, it’s fun.
December 2, 2017