fiction · mental health

Tell the Story — What Time is it?

Sadje at Keep It Alive has tagged me to Tell The Story to this picture.  Wow, all kinds of stuff going on here!

Brock had been seriously depressed for as long as he could remember. His younger sister had been shot as an accidental victim in a drive-by last summer. His mother did not recover from the loss and soon grew ill, then passed away two months ago. His father lived in FL and was too busy living la vida loca to have time for his son. After using up all of his Family Medical Leave Act (FMLA) sick time tending to his mother, then continuing to miss work, his employer fired him. Brock’s unemployment benefits were about to expire and he was too depressed to consider going back to work.

Losing his job led to a continuing domino effect of his defaulting on his mortgage, which led to his wife leaving him. Brock felt like a mule that kept getting loaded with heavier and heavier things. He felt like stumbling and falling down. He became desperate to get some relief from this steady stream of woe.

He began to obsess about leaving this world. His sister, mother, and wife, the people he loved most, were gone. His father, so far away, didn’t care anyway, or at best, had chosen his priorities and they didn’t include Brock.. He began to think of ways he could do it, until he decided on a way. Brock had been given anti-depressants from his doctor, strong ones. On the information sheet that came with them, it said do not drink alcohol while taking them. Friday morning, after receiving his last unemployment check, Brock cashed the check and went to World of Liquor and bought a half-gallon of Everclear and a couple of two-litre bottles of Squirt.

Brock’s plan for the day involved making calls to his friends, to his father, and to his ex-wife. Then he would write good-bye letters to each of them. At midnight he would take his newly filled prescription of pills and begin drinking Everclear Squirt drinks into oblivion.

The plan was moving along as he wanted it to. At 10pm Brock sat back in the La-Z-Boy, covering up with his favorite puffy blanket and put on his favorite movie of all time, “The Wizard of Oz.” About halfway through it, Brock fell asleep.

In his dream, he was walking on a yellow brick road. Looking ahead, in the far distance there was a giant clock. On the left of it was hell’s flames enshrouding the harbinger of death and on the right of it was a pleasant orchard with an angel in a tree. The clock was at midnight as Brock walked closer and closer. He was going to be chosen by one of these two figures and he was terrified which one it would be. He finally got close enough to feel both the heat from the flames and the fresh air from the orchard. Brock tried to turn and run but his legs would only go forward. He could make out the features on the faces of the figures and at this point they started moving towards him.

It was then Brock noticed the crack in the giant clock. It was broken — frozen at midnight. He also noticed the sign pointing right that said, “Tribute”. Brock twisted his body and began running right, following the sign. He found himself at the cemetery, at his sister and mother’s graves.  His mother and sister were sitting at a table, dressed in finery, drinking tea. They smiled at him. His mother said, “Honey, it’s not time yet.”

Brock awoke with a start, just in time to see Dorothy saying goodbye to her pals. He got up, dumped the booze down the drain, grabbed his pill bottle, and drove to the emergency room for help.

This story also includes Fandango’s FOWC tribute and the Word of the Day Challenge puffy.

I choose not to tag anyone else for this, but please feel free to write a story to the picture!

16 thoughts on “Tell the Story — What Time is it?

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