He sat, staring blankly at the gravel. The man lifted his hand, the gauze wrapping gleaming vividly in the sunshine. Anguished, he bent his head again. They were in there, beating, beating on the inside of his head. How was he to get them out now? With only one hand he could do nothing.
It would be weeks. Weeks of torment. Weeks of sleepless nights. Weeks of caffeine fueled days filled with people who didn’t understand. Wretchedly, the artist left the bright courtyard for the dimness of his house.
My story for the Friday Fictioneers, suprisingly well under the 100 word count. Thanks to Rochelle for our most interesting photo this week. As always, make sure you check out all the other stories HERE. In all honesty, my first thought when I saw this was a mixture of Tim Burton films 🙂 I see Edward Scissorhands as well as the Nightmare before Christmas. What do you think?