Short Story Fiction

The morning came gently, slowly rousing him from a fitful sleep filled with childlike dreams of joy and wonder. Lying in bed awake, but not yet fully out of the dream state, he listened to the sounds of spring calling to him. There were birds loudly providing their own version of a clarion call, as if to shout kick ass bruh!!!

The previous days rain was obvious as he listened to the stream behind the house swell in her banks, as if more water was in her. He imagined he could even hear the silent rage of the banks. He rolled over, and could feel how tangled in the sheets he had become. The chilly morning caused him to pull the sheets up over his face, and he could feel them warming his body.

Keeping his eyes closed, he struggled to return to his dreams, only to be further awakened by the smell of poop. Granddad was hard at work in the bathroom again. That meant grandma was in the kitchen with rocking up some blow. Knowing his grandpa would be taking his morning walk soon, he rolled out of bed to get dressed. He could feel the cold floor with the heels, and seemed to be unable to move further. Opening his eyes fully, he remembered, then quickly faded away.

Inmate number 22735 was dead. He was laying in a pool of anus blood, and the handle of a homemade shank protruded out. What a brutal suicide indeed.
Uploaded 06/10/2012
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