Weight it out

“You never shut the …”

“What are you on about?” I scream.

I have had enough. The never-ending struggle. Surrounded, on duty, twenty four seven.

I ride a horror wave of despair that undulates, heaves, thrusts, leaving me nauseous. In this two bed flat I’m one of five, but I’m alone. I wear the weighted hat of responsibility. It pummels me to stagnation. Disciplinarian, toastmaster, cheer squad. Lover.

It doesn’t stop, as I paint with the kids. Background noise, a constant. Fuggy air, it never clears. Mid-winter, in a flat.

“You didn’t close the …”

“Shut the EFF up,” I tell him. Master of the house. Head honcho at work. Now, at home. All the time.

My three jobs down to the one I can do from home. I can barely deal.

One shared computer. Me trying to work, himself sorting rosters and options for takeaway, or home deliveries, or some other way to bring in income. The office space now a war zone.

I need to escape. Spiders in my brain climb walls, thread-like fingers invade crevices, electrify neurons, send me psycho. I’m pushed from the inside out.

I retreat to the only room that locks. The loo. I perch. Feel walls press. Hands to my ears, I block external sound, and free my soul to scream.

A banshee cry bounces, echoes inside my skull. A giant squats on my chest.

Another panic attack. Second one this week. The shift toward insanity, the slippery slide.

Knock, knock.


“Leave me alone,” I whisper.

“Mummy, mummy. I need poo-poo,” cries Clara.

I squeeze my head between vices masquerading as hands, to minimal effect. I want to pulverise, obliterate.


“Fiona, you need to …”

I breathe deeply. And again. Force oxygen past gritted teeth. And again. Air wheezes through lungs, empties into stomach. And again. Chest relaxes, arms loosen. Again. Eyes open. I can do this.

Stand. Pull hair back.

“Mummy. Gotta go now.”

I open the door. Clara rushes past, undies half off.

I feel Simon’s concern.

“You left the browser open,” he said.


“Red Balloon. I saw. Oh babe, to think of me in the midst of this …”

I shrug.

“I’ve always wanted to drive a V8.”

“Sorry babe. We can’t afford it. Next year, maybe?” I disappoint.

“Sure. Sure. No worries. Coffee?”

“That’d be good.”

What I can’t say. I bought that gift six months ago. Today I requested a refund.

Four laps at Bathurst vs survival. [412 words]

Friday Fictioneers – I wonder

#fridayfictioneers #100 words #flashfiction

Photo by Ted Strutz

And I wonder, how he ended

Abandoned in the street

Alone at the end

And I wonder, was he loved

Are his memories kind

As he wheezes one last breath

And I hope

That tender hearts prevail

Trustworthy for the trusting

And I hope

There is a heaven

Tranquil and transcendent

To harbour and hold, even metallic souls

And I wonder, can I use

Any of his parts

 Are they useful to me

 Avariciousness blinding

And I wonder when I became

An actual Ass

All about me. All about me.

Aspiration eradicated [92 words]

Thank you Rochelle Wisoff Fields for continuing to set this 100 word or less challenge. It is certainly a commitment appreciated by many. Other 100 word stories can be read here.

Simply 6 Minutes – Give it to me, Doc

Simply 6 Minutes 11Aug21

I finally decided to give up the smokes.

Doc’s been telling me, Buddy, do it for the family.

“What family,” I said. “The missus ran off with that gorilla, Brian. My girlfriend wants to move to Cleveland. I told her, she’s on her own.

“The kids are monkeys. I can’t get any sense out of them. “

Do it for yourself, he said.

“Well, mate. I’ll try.

“I’ve never felt so tired. My back hurts, the hair’s thinned out (used to be so luxurious) and I’ve greyed up so much. I used to be a rad orange! I’m just all washed out.

“Look at the wrinkles, man!”

I can put you onto a support group, give you a script for patches, the doc said.

“Well, heck,” I told him. “I can only try. Don’t know if my heart’s in it. Don’t know what I’ll replace my friend cigarillo with. But, I’ll give it my best shot, doc.”

I look around myself now, at the verdant jungle I live in. Full of life. And think, oh to be young again. [6 minutes, 179 words]


  • Set up a timer or sit near a clock so you can keep track of the six minutes you will be writing.
  • You can either use one of the prompts (photo or written) or you can free-write.
  • Get ready and write for 6 minutes, that is it! Can you write a complete story? Can you think of a new Sonnet? Can you write 400 words? 400? 500? There are no restrictions on what kind of writing you do, but you should try to be actively writing for six minutes.
  • After you are done writing, include your word count and then post back to this page #Simply6Minutes or include your link in the comments section. Pingbacks are enabled.