Five Sentence Fiction: Departure

 

BEGIN TRANSMISSION.

 

Boy, I’m tired.

It is 2:39 AM here.

 

 

Have fun~

 


 

 

Word of Inspiration: Spunk

Word Count: 172

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Title: Departure

 

Harold burned his copies of Moby Dick, Lord of the Rings, and The Road— all three dog-eared copies of each. The calendar read March the 10th but his mind was ever stuck on the 6th; March the 6th was the day that Harold learned the price of adventure, the shattering of rose glass that displayed “The Prodigal Son” in cathedral letters and sacred skill. An artist, his son said, he wanted to be an artist, to make with his own body what most others only dreamed about. March the 6th was a cold and rainy day and Harold’s son marched straight out into it, a single suitcase and an umbrella to his name (his good sense was left in his room near the trash can that hadn’t been emptied for months). Harold’s own pleading was fossilized into wounding memory, bouncing before against the walls of his own home and now within his own head; nobody had ever mentioned that when the hero went on journeys, they left more than their safety behind.

 

 

 


 

 

Girl, I’m sleep.

It is now 2:41 AM here.

 

And I wrote this all in one sitting. About eight minutes (or approximately two songsworth) ago. I hate my brain sometimes always sometimes.

 

Good luck, you brave writer folk!

 

END TRANSMISSION.

 

 

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