This is for the Chuck Wendig’s Fiction Challenge.
This week, we had to Google image search “strange photos” and then pick one.
Because I am chicken, I convinced my sister – Mel Gutiér, the princess of Melons –to do this with me. Please go check out her story too.
This isn’t my normal sort of narrative. I’m not even sure what this. LOL
It is what it is.
Amberley “Lemon” Griffin
The floating room is where we go.
Souls, lost. Torn. Told they were less than they were.
Let me be clear… this is not hell. Although it shares many of the same aspects. Eternal eternity exsisting and not.
It is also not purgatory. None of us have left yet. None that I know of.
We cannot speak. For we were silent in life.
We cannot walk. Feet forever hovering just out of reach of the ground. No movement. For we did not run in life.
Did not flee.
Did not change.
Did not fight.
We were the ones who believed the monsters when they told us we were bad. We were the ones who hung our heads in shame although we had done nothing wrong.
If we do not believe we are worthy for heaven, I guess we do not go there.
There is no fire. We feel no pain.
There is no light, no darkness just the constant twilight of muddy air, thick with the sadness and the regret and the shame which was never ours to begin with.
We didn’t look too dissimilar while living actually…
You will notice us, in your life. Maybe. If you take the time. If you glance in our direction.
The ones with the glazed hazy look which clouds the light in their eyes. The ones who look at their feet as they walk. The ones who flinch. The ones whose pain is worn on their sleave, heart so broken it dangles in tatters.
If you see them, and you will, offer a kind word. A smile. A hug. An ear to listen. A question. (Are you okay?)
For it is getting crowded in here. And cold. It gets colder every day.