The ruined attic triggers painful memories; recollections of hunger, deprivation … humiliation. My pulse quickens at the sight of the now rusty chains.
Powerless, with no alternative but to endure all that a twisted mind could dream of, yet still that tiny flame of hope had flickered, defiant, inextinguishable.
Months passed, and ultimately a shackle of diabolical interdependence had been forged, as we fed off each others’ needs, desires and fears.
Liberation spawned many dark days; we’d become so close…I found I missed him.
I’ll handle things differently this time, I think, slipping silently from the shadows, chloroform in hand.
If you think this picture prompt is familiar, you’re right. Rochelle is having a well deserved break from Friday Fictioneers, so this is one from quite some time back. My story this week is one that I started for that prompt when it originally appeared, but I couldn’t get it right and finally submitted Dysfunctional. I’m not sure I’ve quite got it right this time either, but I think I’ve just about exhausted my critical faculties on this one. Enjoy your break Rochelle, get your feet up, commune with your muse and most of all… enjoy!