RSS Feed

Friday Fiction: Yellow

Image found on Pintrest

Image found on Pintrest

I woke up that morning and fought the thrumming onslaught against my heart. Again. Little guilt soldiers marching along the dark, bloody recess palpitating every few seconds to keep my body alive. To keep the pain alive.

I pushed off the thin blanket draped over my half dressed body, heat radiating off the wooden floors and soft blue walls of my cozy bedroom. Home. It was only the third night back in this enclosed space and already the feeling of home was dissipating – as though the walls themselves were sucking back the sentiment they once felt for me. Their innocent blue eyed boy. Little Pan the lost boy.

Oh how lost I was at that moment.

I gravitate towards the cylindrical JBL bluetooth speaker standing upright on my dresser; sleep and remorse wrestle for dominance with each unhurried step I take. I flick on the device and the soft pacifying voice of Chris Martin permeates the silent house.

Yellow.

It was all yellow.

I take the speaker with me, pushing through my bedroom door and immediately, unconsciously, step over the leg strewn haphazardly in the passageway. The smell is cloying. Suffocating. Soothing. The rest of the body is angled behind the door and acts as a doorstop. I tread across the warm carpet, my foot squelching slightly but I barely notice. Only Chris Martin and I exist.

And guilt.

It’s all yellow.

The bathroom is dark when I enter, the window barricaded by a large bulking figure drooping lifelessly from the bar. A quick fumbling across the wall reveals the bump of the light switch but I hesitate before I click it on. Not because of the man on the window, but rather in fear of the mirror right beside him that reflects my silhouette.

The music continues.

The guilt continues.

I flick the switch and nothing happens. Only then I realize I have been holding my breath and I let it go with a long drawn out sigh. Relief. I do not want to see what I have become since the incident. The invasion of privacy to the sacred enclosure that is my bedroom. The violation.

Since the bottled rage quivered first through the lower region where my heart resides, then up, up, up into the front half of my brain, then through my entire nervous system like blood through the veins. Down to my hand clutching the pocket knife on the desk. To the fingers squeezing the black plastic handle.

To the rage throwing the chair back.

The stalking to the trembling figure.

The first plunge.

The first maternal scream.

The first spurt of thick crimson fluid splashing across my face. Against my bared teeth. The sound of footsteps as paternal anguish lunged from across the hallway. The struggle in the hallway where my skull connected with the wall, rattling my teeth. The surge of strength from the pain, fear and anger. The grunt as a knee connected with the soft gut, the ease by which the steel tipped edge plunged into the thick neck. The weight of the slumped body against my shoulder, the ease by which I was able to carry it to the bathroom and hang it through the burglar bars. Later I will put up something to hide it from the outside world. For now…

Elation.

Fear.

Relief.

Guilt. Guilt. Guilt.

Yellow.

It was all yellow.


Writing prompt courtesy of Rachel Poli: http://rachelpoli.com/2016/02/26/time-to-write-sentence-starter-7/

I fear anger and what we could do in that state of mind. What is your biggest emotional fear?

About Nthato Morakabi

Nthato Morakabi is a South African published author. He has short stories appearing in both international and local anthologies, and has published his first book, Beneath the Wax, which opens his three-part novella series "Wax". He is an avid reader, blogger and writer.

7 responses »

  1. Hurt is my biggest fear. Having gone through a few tough situations when I was younger I can’t really take the smallest but if hurt or pain. I never talk about it but I do write about it. I’m afraid of what people will do to themselves or to you if they are hurt. This was beautifully written Nthato.

    Reply
  2. Ah, I completely skipped over this! I’ll add this to today’s prompt post. I think it’s funny that you kind of used two prompts in one–even before you knew what the next prompt was going to be!
    This was a great read, Nthato. Thanks! 🙂

    Reply
  3. Pingback: Time To Write: Red, Blue, Yellow | Rachel Poli

  4. Really enjoyed this. You’ve really captured the guilt and almost numbness. This line is most boss: Not because of the man in the window…but rather in fear of…

    Reply

Any Words to the Writer?

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Rajat Narula

Let's keep the love for books alive

saania2806.wordpress.com/

Philosophy is all about being curious, asking basic questions. And it can be fun!

Transmundane Press

Join the Community

Andrew McDowell

An Author of Many Parts

Katie Marie

Horror Enthusiast and Writer

mused.blog

Just another blog of random thoughts.

sakhile whispers

mental health and books over every damn thing

Way Too Fantasy

Speculative fiction book reviews and more!

R. Michael

The home of mysteries, writing, and ponderings.

The Library Ladies

Two librarians, one blog, zero SHH-ing

Reader Voracious

adventures in books & nature

The Lost Highway Hotel

See cinema differently

Lorraine Ambers

Fantasy writer - Bibliophile - Daydreamer

AllthingsUncanny

Ordinary Girl in Love with Horror

SAM's Book Reviews

Books Old & New

xolisilesite

Personal blog

%d bloggers like this: