Happy New Year to anyone who chances on this post.
This story was prompted by the photo below, kindly provided by Al Forbes at Sunday Photo Fiction: https://sundayphotofictioner.wordpress.com/ . It’s my first story for a few weeks, following a self-imposed digital detox (which wasn’t as tough as I’d expected).
This link will take you to other stories and let you add your own: http://www.inlinkz.com/new/view.php?id=595561.
Home Is Where The Hurt Is
‘Mum, Dad, wake up,’ I sob. They just lie still on the floor, with their eyes half-open.
The other day, when Dad gave me the lamp, he looked happy, so I didn’t tell him it wasn’t really a lava lamp, like I’d wanted. Anyway, it was better – there was like a little world inside, where I could go when they started fighting. Just make-pretend, but it felt good, safe.
When I was in bed last night, Mum started shouting that Dad was useless and he should go out and get what they needed. Then she said he shouldn’t have sold their method drone, or something, to get that stupid lamp. But I thought, it’s not stupid, and I tried to think myself inside it and Dad sort of crept in and got hold of it and went out and the door slammed.
I went to sleep but after a bit they was talking and Dad said, ‘It’s good stuff,’ and Mum just sort of mumbled. I thought she’ll be better now and I fell asleep again.
Now I can’t wake them up, but I know they’ve had their medicine ‘cos the needle’s sticking out of Dad’s arm.
‘Where’s my lamp?’