Friday Fictioneers
Eyes observe photo
Tumbling thoughts settle into
One hundred word story

Copyright Danny Bowman
Out of the Frying Pan
He lies
A useless hulk
A ranging mind or a vast emptiness
No one knows
Once-powerful muscles wasted from lack of exercise
He never speaks
Eyes dead and flat
Bodily functions machine- or human-aided
He lies alone
In silence
She never visits
His wife of many years, absent
No children to hold his hand
Or talk of the day’s activities
Some feel sorrow for him
Her bruises, burns, sometime broken bones
(all hidden)
Ended by the frying pan
That finally destroyed his abuse-ordering synapses
Today she signs the papers
Sending him, she hopes,
To the hell he put her through