Sunday Photo Fiction: A Place to Fall #amwriting #fiction #SPFo


Thanks to Susan Spaulding for hosting SPF.


Credit: Susan Spaulding


The catacomb walls were thick and confining. Iris let out a lungful of pent up breath as sunlight filtered through a doorway. The tunnels with so many bones of the same type stacked on other bones, frightened her.

She wondered why in such an ancient country, human remains were not given the respect of a grave for more than a year or two — or at least cremation.

Iris wheezed as Don, rubbed her back. “You having an attack?”

“No.”

He rolled his eyes. “You say that every time we visit tight spaces. You’re claustrophobic.”

“I’m fine. Don’t worry.” Iris was close to the exit, but the air she breathed was too stale; there wasn’t enough fresh air in the Catacombs. Her body collapsed and she couldn’t control the darkness that overcame her.

Then, Don was lifting her. Her eyes opened as he carried her into blinding daylight. A tiny ‘V’ furrowed between his gray ones.

He stroked her hair. “I got you.”

“Always?” Her voice was faint.

“Always. I know you better than you think.”

She inhaled cool air and let Don cradle her weight.


©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

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Writing 101 – Living in Fear


Static. Motionless. Stagnant. Stale. Still. I have a fear of all these words. When it comes to my life I’m afraid of not going anywhere. I’m afraid I will be still and stuck. I’m afraid of wasting away in a stagnant life. I’m terrified of remaining motionless. I’m afraid of being static. I’m terrified I will end up a stale person. I mean I’m afraid of never getting ahead in life. I’m afraid of never having achieved much of anything. I’m guilty of these fears because I have been sick a long time. I have been sick almost 6 years.

Sometimes, honestly, I could do nothing. I was stuck because I was ill. Too ill to think. Too ill to get out of bed. Too ill to concentrate. Too ill to take care of myself barely. Too ill to make myself lunch. Too ill to rise above being ill. But sometimes I feel a bit better and then I’m afraid because I don’t want to be stuck inside all the time. I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to live with my parents much longer. I want to work. I don’t want to miss that event my friends are going to. I don’t want to be too fatigued. I don’t want to take so much time to rest. I want my old life back. But instead I get this life.

It’s not so bad. You get use to your own situation in life. But then I get terribly ill sometimes and I hate life. I’m afraid of disappearing. I’m afraid of never getting to be independent. I’m afraid of being independent. I’m afraid of too much. I’m afraid of of being forgotten. I’m afraid of having high hopes. I’m afraid of that fire within that wants to achieve. I’m afraid of being goal-oriented. I’m afraid of not getting what I most desire — I don’t want to hide the best parts of me.

I don’t want to hide behind manners and trying to fit in. I don’t want to hide behind polite conversation. I don’t want to hide behind false pretences. I want to believe that I can do most anything. I need to believe I have potential. My potential is what hides away. My dreams stay hidden. And every now and then I find a purpose. I want to believe that I can fulfill that purpose. I want to believe I have a purpose. I am potential. But I’m afraid to step into the light the place where creative energy thrives.

I want to write. I want to create. I want recognition. I want a career. I want people to see me not as that person who is sick but as that person who is capable despite sickness. I am plane afraid of not accomplishing my calling. I’m afraid of what people think. I’m afraid of what people say. I want to be capable again. I want so badly to just not be sick. I need so badly God’s grace. And need to achieve something I dream. Is that too much to ask? Or am I just living in fear?

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