Infernally Yours

Autonomy

Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Every doubt, every scar, every insult, every hurt, every injustice every demon.

I was told to overcome them, banish those demons- put them behind me, bury them, shove them into a room and lock the door and throw away the key.

Go ahead and build and fashion with my own two hands a room where the air is chilled by despair, lit by anger and every square inch, every corner of that cavernous room is crammed full of bones, twisted shadows and the torn and bloody remains of  every me who ever was in doubt, ever injured, ever insulted or dealt an injustice.

The crying the half breaths and the whispering and shouting into nothingness would never end in that room- does anybody know that?

Why doesn’t that matter?

stuck

Create a Hell is the advice I get,  create a hell shut the door, lock it and throw away the key.

I can see myself standing in front of the door. I can feel the coldness, hear the despair. I can see the handle being frantically turned and worked from the other side.

I should lock that door, throw away the key and walk away from that door…

Or I could open the door, walk inside and

embrace what I find there and make it my own.

scary-mirror-1

 

Chained Life

Opposites

This week, make two opposing elements come together (or clash in dissonance) in one photo.

Photo:  A.M. Moscoso

Photo: A.M. Moscoso

I was out walking at lunch and I looked up and there was this giant chain hanging from a tree.

It’s metal, it’s rigid, it doesn’t move or change or grow or die.

The trees that surround it do all of those things.

Regardless, there they are existing together.

How or why doesn’t seem to matter though…does it?

The Unquiet Door

For this week’s challenge, publish a post — any kind of post, be it fiction, nonfiction, poetry, photography, illustration, video, or anything else — inspired by this line:

It was the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last.

Photo A.M Moscoso

Photo A.M Moscoso

It was the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last

I would hear a knock

on the door

at

the end of the hall.

Photo: A.M Moscoso

Photo: A.M Moscoso

It was the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last

I would hear the door

at the end of the hall

open and close

on it’s own

with a click.

Photo: A.M. Moscoso

Photo: A.M. Moscoso

There will be a first time

and it will be the last time

I open the door

at the end of the hall

and walk through it

forever.