Happiness – Flash Fiction

– Are you happy?

– Happy? What does that even mean? Is it when you wake up with a smile on your face; or when you look at the world like it’s full of pink elephants?

– I guess happiness is different for everyone. But how do you feel?

– I feel empty. I am not miserable but I would not say I am happy. Definitely drama-free and stress-free which is the most important thing since I moved to London.

– Okay, what would make you happy?

– I don’t know. Before, even the smell of morning coffee made me feel good. It made me feel alive. Now, I don’t know no more.

– Well, maybe you need to go out there and seek some happiness. Look for it in different places and in different people. You need to feel that spark in you again. The one that makes you jump high and dance when you hear a rhythmic song. The spark that makes you look forward and move forward. The one that makes you dream and desire more.

– Well, what if I don’t? Anyway, I think happiness is over-rated.

 

Image was found here.

Addiction – Flash Fiction

How did I end up on this couch, surrounded by needles? Spoonful of pleasure and darkness that comes along with it. Sobriety is not something I want to hang onto. It is who I am. That darkness gets louder and louder. The whispering grows and rises within. The desire needs to be fed up.

Fight the pressure, fight who you are. Eventually, the need will become stronger than you. Eventually, the desire will burn your insides and will scream for more.

Rich daddy never cared for me and to show him I will not submit to his orders I start causing trouble. I knew he is not going to hold my hand when I was in pain but when I was on heroin he was there. Standing in front of me, helplessly watching me ruin my life.

Glen never admitted what was actually going on. He knew he had to get help. His mom never reached for help and she died. Is that what he wanted for himself too? To burn to ashes and no one except him would be able to help him. No other help than to have will, to be strong enough to say ‘STOP, no more’.

 

Image was found here.

Life Struggle – Short Story

I have been writing this book for two years now and when I finally got a publisher to like the idea I cannot even finish it.

Tried to write in the evenings, in the mornings, out in the garden with a lot of caffeine in my blood or drunk, near the state I almost fell asleep on my keyboard. Not a word was written.

I have always known I want to be a writer – poetry, short stories, journalistic articles and most importantly books. Books that will leave you speechless, tears in your eyes and expressionless face simply because you cannot understand how is it even possible for this book to be that good.

Of course, it does not work like this in real life.

Publishers changing deadlines not giving you time to even finish your coffee. Not understanding how for the last two months you have been stressing out for money. You have been typing words that make no sense up to 4 am, while your wife sleeps naked in the big bedroom and with your child sucking on her bare body. Stressing how is this child going to live through kinder garden and school and go to a good college, make a career. God forbid he wants to be a writer like his father.

My wife is talking to me while she is serving us coffee. I do not even listen to her because I am too concentrated on what to write next in my book. I do not want to be ignorant to her but I cannot help it. All I can think is this publisher who is up my ass, knocking on the door with a lawyer for not meeting the deadline for my book. I am afraid even to get up and get a pen and a piece of paper. What if all the thoughts suddenly disappear?

I haven’t touched my wife for months now but she never complains. She knows what the dream of my life is besides providing for my family. I manage to write all my thoughts down and I get up. Slowly take the cup of coffee off her hand, put it on the table and grab her by the waist. She bites her bottom lip and I kiss her passionately. The taste of coffee on her lips make my blood boil. She holds her breath while I lift her and place her on the table like a fragile doll. For a first time in months I feel happiness and fulfillment, for having intercourse with my wife. I laugh. I laugh at myself and my silliness. This is not an accomplishment.

However, minutes after we both have caught our breath I feel remorse and guilt for not working on my book. I kiss her quickly as I do not want to offend her and go straight to my computer.

Start typing. Hours spent in typing on that damn computer just to be a writer and for what? To prove yourself, to make your parents proud, to make your publisher happy, to make your readers buy your next book and at the end of the day to be able to sleep dreamless.