Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

Ten Minutes

Ten minutes. A one, followed by the standard zero I knew so much. I lay, staring at the sky -- spelling them out along with the stars. If I wanted to die, I wanted it this way. I rolled over to my stomach, hoisting myself up and looking over at the world. I knew who I loved, and if the loved me or not. The sureness of my life was secure, like a cord meant to propel me up from this predicament. It was more or less a paradox, as I had no way to move.
The lights of the city stretched out beneath me, like fireflies -- but unmoving and still. For a moment, I wanted to plunge down into them. But the moment passed and like a fresh breath of revival, I sat again on the ground. I sung very softly, a song to those that meant the most to me. I made sure to exclude myself from them, not trying to accuse them of where I would soon be. I made sure that nobody was to be guilty for this. They were going to be better off, and I assumed I was right.
In that pocket knife, of which I only kept for safety for the vigorous city life, I spelled out on the tree what was going on. The last letter, consumed my last minute. I fell.

'D-O-N-T B-E S-O-R-R-Y' In the dark shadows.

More writing by this author

Blogs on This Site