Weekly Writing Challenge: A Picture Is Worth 1,000 Words

Weekly Writing Challenge: A Picture Is Worth 1,000 Words

“They say a picture is worth a thousand words, right? Prove it!

This week’s challenge couldn’t be simpler: tell a story based on this picture.”

“But he killed me!”

Bellowing laughter fills the room.  He looks at me mockingly.

“And tell me how, dear lady, how can a dead woman commit a murder? – Clearly you are alive and well, breathing”

With his eyes staring at me, the hostility obvious as he demands an answer.

“You don’t understand” I stammer, my voice going weak.

“You see this little girl in the picture, that’s me, still very small.”  The temperature of the room seemed to rise.  The heat was steaming inside my pounding head.

“Continue” he said as he waved his hand in my direction, as if I was playing a part and he was introducing the next scene.

“And what of the boy?” he fires the question at me.

“The boy was blind, even though he could see, still now, he is blind” I stammer  “But the man, that man, Gerard, my father – he killed me, little by little … before I could formulate any self confidence, any form of self worth, before I had a voice.   He destroyed my soul, little by little.  I was his plaything, his pet.  He used me and abused me.   Look at him, standing there all arrogant and sure of himself.  I imagined him dead, yes, often.  I thought how he would die, but I couldn’t kill him since I was not strong enough.  I had to think of something more devious, something that would affect him to the core of his being. “ Said I, my voice beginning to fade as the words tumbled out of my mouth.

“Ah! So you denied him any recognition, you denied him forgiveness, you let him die a lonely old man.  You punished him over and over – he has spent years and years of anguish, wondering about you as you tried to kill his soul!”

This time it was my turn to laugh.  I laughed and laughed and laughed!  “You think he feels that, is that what he told you? You really believe that?”  Scorn, utter scorn burst from my being. “You, even you, the devils advocate believes him”

The devils advocate looks at me, the fire blazing in his eyes…

“That is because I am the advocate of the devil and you cannot win! His soul still lives on.  Look at the picture my dear – see how the man laughs at you, you worthless little girl, you worthless woman”  His voice, his image fades from my dimension…

“I cry”

THE END

27 thoughts on “Weekly Writing Challenge: A Picture Is Worth 1,000 Words

  1. I miss read the title and thought it was mean’t to be 100 words… wanted to tackle you about your word count… but now I see I’m wrong, so I apologise, even though I did nothing wrong, but it was in my mind… LOL

  2. Couldn’t it be: you see that little girl there, it’s me,
    and that’s my little brother and my daddy holding our hands.
    That photograph was taken the day of my mummy’s funeral.
    See how beautifuly daddy dressed us, both of us in our Sunday best.

    No it could’nt, of course not in mine there would be no story. Enjoyed yours
    very much. I read it twice.

    Thanks

    Lovies.

  3. Just for fun, here is mine:
    I remembered the picture. I held it in my hands; I stared; I burned; I hated.

    November 18, 1968, a cold afternoon, slight breeze, cloudy.
    “Stand still,” said Mother. Her dress waved in the breeze; her hair sprayed enough to stay put.

    She held the bulky camera in her hands, raising her thumb to the button. As she pressed the small plastic knob, she took a short step backwards. She forgot the curb was there and the sound was awful. Her head hit the street followed by the car running over it. I remember Sis screaming; her little hand trying to pull from Dad’s large one; him holding on so hard even as he went to mother’s side.

    Mother’s death that day came after hours of agony for us while she fought so quietly in the hospital surgery room. The surgeon came out slowly; we already had it figured out from that, to tell us. Dad broke down and cried; Sis screamed over and over; I just stood there thinking.

    Dad began drinking shortly after that; He began abusing Sis about four months later. I didn’t blame him; he was always drunk, mostly. So, I killed him quietly in his sleep. The police didn’t suspect a ten-year-old boy back then; it was a burglary gone badly.

    We went to live with Aunt Charlotte. I liked her but not the dog; the dog disappeared.
    So, did the next one.

    Sis never came out of her depression; people may have meant well, but they only pushed her harder, kept saying to “get over it and move on.” She found the pills at a friend’s house.

    I have been the only one to get through it without much damage. You disagree? I can hear it in your thoughts. You just don’t have all the info. You see, we didn’t get to have pets much, either; they kept disappearing, too.

Namaste. My soul honors your soul. I honor the place in you where the entire universe resides. I honor the light, love, truth, beauty & peace within you, because it is also within me. In sharing these things we are united, we are the same, we are one.

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