50 Word Thursday #16 – Lonely Being Different.

Debbie Whittam has set a challenge to write a poem or story in 50 words, or multiples of 50 up to a maximum of 250 words, inspired by a picture and include some particular lines.

https://debbiewhittam.wordpress.com/2018/08/30/50-word-thursday-16/

 

Here is the Picture:

30-08-18

Here are the Words: He had lived his life at one remove from the world around him, and now he was paying the price in madness.

John Connolly – Night Music.  Nocturnes Volume 2

 

And here is my attempt:

Lonely Being Different

Paolo revelled in being different and always had. He wasn’t going to conform. That’s why he painted his house blue when most in the street were light or dark brown. He wanted to stand out. He didn’t get on with his neighbours. They shunned him because he refused to conform to their rules. He wouldn’t go to church with them on Sundays. He refused to do his washing on Monday when people would gather at the laundry and do their washing and gossip. He didn’t join them; he provided them with something to gossip about. When they hung their washing out he waited until they took theirs in before doing his. They tutted on Tuesday when they gazed up at his underpants waving in the breeze above their heads. He refused to develop any relationship with them.

The thing that really set him apart was his sexuality. He had chosen to set up home with Andreas. He’d met him one night at the local bar. He was from another part of the country where people no longer gossiped about people who were different. He believed Andreas was the one for him and they were happy. That’s why it had been such a shock when he read the letter. Andreas had left him and gone home. He was devastated and he had no one he could take comfort from. He had lived his life at one removed from the world around him, and now he was paying the price in madness.

 

Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 30/August/2018

FOWC with Fandango — Develop

 

Multiple Word Prompt Story – A Welcome Home?

This story was inspired by these word prompts:

https://fivedotoh.com/2018/07/19/fowc-with-fandango-steady/

https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2018/07/19/rdp-49-welcome/

https://onedailyprompt.wordpress.com/2018/07/19/your-daily-word-prompt-abominable-july-19th-2018/

WORD OF THE DAY: Sussurous

https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2018/07/19/sussurous/

https://thehauntedwordsmith.wordpress.com/2018/07/19/three-things-challenge-19-july-2018/

Today’s things are: disco, boy, June bug

A Welcome Home?

Coming home always filled him with that mix of emotions. It was at the same time a comfortable feeling and one that made him feel anxious and on edge. He was ever full of contradictions. It was the contrasts that made life more than just two-dimensional. He always wondered what his welcome was going to be like. He had not always seen eye to eye with his folks. Particularly as he became aware that he wasn’t quite the same as his brothers. Life had become so abominable for him. Feeling like a fish out of water or a bird in the sea. He was a boy that had struggled with his own feelings and desires. It was only when he’d gone to university he’d learned there were fish that dwelt on land and birds that were happiest in the water and more importantly boys that felt the same as he did. He wasn’t alone.

At university he had lived life to the full. Immersed himself in that life of parties and fun. He loved the disco, the night life and being amongst his own kind.

Coming home had been a wrench. A return to the past. That was why he felt such mixed feelings, the comfort that usually came with coming home was tinged with that awkwardness. Would he still be welcome?

It was evening as he stepped down off the bus and walked up the path to the house. He heard the engine of the bus, that steady rhythm as it pulled away. Then the whispering of the evening breeze as it blew through the cornfields. A gentle susurrus sound, steady and constant. Then a June Bug flew into his face and he waved his hands to get rid of it.

He walked up to the front porch. A figure in faded blue jeans and t-shirt dragging a large backpack through the dust.

He extended his hand, took a deep breath, and knocked.

The door opened and he saw his Mother peering out into the night. She was just the same, her brown hair pulled back into a neat bun, her blue eyes peering out from her batwing glasses. Her clothes, neat and clean if a bit worn. As her eyes adjusted and she saw who it was, her face lit up.

“David! It’s David everyone, he’s come home!” she exclaimed to the house.

She put her arm around him and pulled him into the light. He cried tears of relief. He was so afraid they’d shun him after they’d discovered what he was. The way his Mother hugged him close, the way he saw his brothers come out from the kitchen and smiled at him, the way his father stood up from his easy chair and pulled the pipe out of his mouth and grinned, told him he had been wrong. His family loved him after all.

The End

 

Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 19/July/2018