I’ve crawled up and inside my mind.
Sure, it’s a figurative expression in a world of literal abstraction.
It was a Tuesday.
We’re all just corpses as we drag our flesh around from day to day and stow our unsightly demons. We yearn for distraction as we distance ourselves more and more from the actual art of life. Existing is not living. Our “reality” TV is steeped in the fiction of absurdities, and the real news so horrific most flee from the responsibility of our shared humanity. We shake our heads, point our fingers, and drag our flesh around a little more, toting judgements on our backs. The load is heavy.
I’m no exception. I’ve become a shell of want and need, the steel door trap of my mind doesn’t house the keys, but I reach.
I held human life in my womb for weeks and wondered if I could wear my skin as beauty again, pave the way for new life. But my womb was weak and expelled the very hope, shedding the tissue of round-cheeked rosy visions I’d had. It was a Tuesday when they carved out the rest of me.
Grief is a strange thing.
We have to move on, but I tote flesh.
Fiction written for Flash! Friday Micro Fiction Contest