Tuesday Tales and Heavy Metal


Ahoy Fellow Fathomers! It's time for Tuesday Tales.



A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific word prompt each week. Once per month, we even write to an image.  You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds. This week our group writes to the word- metal.  This will be an excerpt from my new WIP for a new romance contemporary, What the Storm Didn't Take.

Enjoy!~








“Did you ever wish your heart was made of metal?” The feeling of cold steel in the center of my chest remained a gloomy reminder of the loneliness and emptiness. Hollow, like the center of an oil drum, my heartbeat even echoed sadness. Thump, thump…pause thump… there, it started again. Maybe my heart would stop.


Maybe I should stop thinking that way. Fuck all these maybes.


“You mean like the tin man in Oz?”


Seriously, did she not remember the tin man had no heart? He was the lucky one. “No, the tin man needed a heart, big difference. He should’ve been grateful.” Why does anyone need a heart? I’ve learned the heart leads to more pain than happiness. I’m not sure I’d ever be at peace again.


“I was trying to envision a comparison, I’m sorry. No matter what I do, nothing ever helps you. Honestly, I don’t know what to say that won’t upset you.” Her face flushed, her eyes welled with tears bubbling her normally calm expression.


I felt like an asshole. “I’m sorry, mom, I’m being ugly. I just don’t know what to do with all…this” I waved my hands around my body, trying to exacerbate my crumbling wholeness. I’m sure it was visible to anyone, it had to be.


“I don’t know either, sweetheart. I’m your mom and should fix your pains, all your scrapes and bruises. I can’t tell you how much it hurts that I can’t make you feel better.”


My attention abruptly shifted from my broken heart to my mom’s. Empathy became a cruel assignment in humanity. I took on not only my heartbreak, but, my mom’s heartbreak too. She crumpled like a dandelion in my hot, tightly squeezed hand. How many times had I given her dandelions? Skipping across the yard in the spring, the grass under my toes, those bright yellow weeds disguised as flowers seemed a perfect gift from a six year old to my mom.  I never noticed how short they lasted from the time I picked them, until I gave them to her. Suddenly, the act of picking wildflowers and weeds became a cruel and unnecessary punishment to both human and earth.
Please visit us at our main site for more interpretations of metal  Tuesday Tales Main Page
 




 
 

Comments

Karen Cino said…
Wonderfully, emotional piece between mother and daughter. Nicely done.
February 6, 2017 at 8:34 PM
Susanne Matthews said…
What a powerful scene. Great job.
February 7, 2017 at 7:44 AM
V.L. Locey said…
Such a powerful excerpt!
February 7, 2017 at 3:15 PM
Jean Joachim Books said…
Strong emotions here from child to mother. I feel it. Well done.
February 8, 2017 at 9:22 PM
Flossie Benton Rogers said…
Powerful, deep scene! Well done.
February 12, 2017 at 3:35 PM
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