Suicide Note

I constantly check my reflection in your eyes.

Am I pretty? Too fat? Too thin? Too loud? What do you think of me as I cry while you call me stupid and punch me over and over again.

Why am I not good enough?

My world revolves around your ups and downs. Trapped beneath your umbrella of greed I wear gaudy greens, blues and reds per your request. I am the pawn you play because I am beautiful. With me on your arm men with money give you whatever you want.

No more.

I wish you nothing but pain. Lizbeth

Lottery

Today Pegman took us to Norfolk Island. An interesting place full of intriguing history.

Just last eve Aengus, Mich, Enda and me drew lottery straws. Mich drew the shortest. Me and Enda the long. That left Aengus the murdering lad. Mich the lad to die. We other two will witness all and be more than glad to tell.

If you’re nay here on Norfolk Island where Satan rules with a floggin whip and the fields be strewn with blood, you’ll think we friends have turned our backs against the lads we love.

But if you knew we four and the place we are from
you’d recognize the bond we share
through Father Maguire who preaches suicide as sin

But now we’re left to fixin things the very best we can

Mich’ll be freed by Aengus’s blade. Aengus freed by the rope. With any luck Enda and me will escape this wretched island of death with truths to tell back home.

The ‘Lottery’ explained by an entry in an Irishman’s Diary
The extent of the horror experienced on Norfolk Island between 1824 to 1847 led to what was known as “the Norfolk lottery.” Irish convicts feared that suicide, being an unforgivable sin, would send them to eternal hell.To get around the dilemma they devised a plan where four convicts drew straws: one would be murdered, one would be the murderer and two would act as witnesses at the trial to ensure a conviction.The victim would escape life without fear of going to hell, the murderer would be executed, escape a miserable life and the fear of going to hell, and the witnesses would testify at a trial in either Sydney or Hobart. Just getting off the island was a holiday for them and would possibly present an opportunity to escape.

The Thief

Today What Pegman Saw took us to St. Petersburg, Russia. After strolling the streets I found the church of Our Savior on Spilled Blood – per our fearless leader’s suggestion. The exterior reminded me of a woman dressed in her finest clothes. Here is her story in 150-words.

 

The mirror reflects:
1) dress made of midnight blue silk
2) six gold chains; three turquoise rings
3) shoes made of the softest leather
4) elaborate curls the color of an autumn sunset
5) peach-pink cheeks; garnet-colored eyes
Oksana is ready

Oksana sees:
1) a liar – not her
2) a cheat – not her either
3) a thief – this almost applies

What Evgeny reads in the Sovetsky Sakhalin newspaper dated October 23rd, 1925:
Oksana Petrov found floating in Grboyedov Canal at 3:00 am this morning, had this note along with five heavy stones in the pocket of her ermine cape.

None can live inside the shadow of a man who serves words meant to cover the truth. Neither can they live wondering who has been cheated so that same man may be surrounded by wealth beyond all imagining. To this man, I say, “I am taking my life back.” You will consider it stealing. On the contrary – you never owned me.

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Detective’s Notes

This 150 word piece is for What Pegman Saw – in Dubrovnik.

Let’s say Tanya and Stewart had an affair.
Met at the bottom of the stairs
to grope one another in the dark.
Her whispering, “But my husband!” like a mantra
even as her clothes dropped on the cobblestones.

Scratch that. Stewart was a painter, Tanya his student.
They despised one another.
Still, they shared ideas about color and texture and the effects of wine.
And, after too much wine, they…?
You decide.

Or perhaps they were siblings –
they certainly looked alike –
with a deliriously dark secret
about what their father did at night.
Tanya’s room? Stewart’s? Both?
And that twisted them until they had no one but each other?
Alas, there are no definite answers to these questions, either.

What do we know?
At 5 a.m. both were found dead beneath the paintings.
Clothes flung across the cobblestones –
wine sloshed between them –
holding hands and smiling.
No signs of a struggle.

Hurtful Tales

Wow!Rochelle has been our Friday Fictioneers Facilitator for four years and what a marvelous job she does.Today’s thought-provoking picture was provided by Peter Abbey. When I read my 100-word story to my husband, he said, ” Another dark one.” Maybe next week I’ll bend toward the lighter side. Thanks to all who read and comment on my submissions. I truly appreciate you all.

11:50 am
“Got to get home before me Em does.”
Samuel’s feet clattered across the wooden bridge.
His leggings were too hot, not because the day was warm,
it was only forty degrees, it was the panic, the need to reverse time.
“She not be cheatin’ on me! Lyin’ bitches!”

12:10 pm
“Em!” The oak door slammed against the wall.
Emily’s single porcelain dish tumbled from the shelf. Shattered.
“Em!” Samuel sprinted, room to room.

He found her hanging in the attic; note pinned to her bodice.
Beneath his words, “Be gone by noon.”
she’d penned, “Husband, I’ll have done what you be askin’.”

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