agoraphobia

Children run. Colors blur.

Parents laugh. Voices hurt.

Teacher speaks. Words blend.

Head swells. Brain bends.

Feet stuck. Force movement. Back up. Feel wall. Touch bricks. Need grounding. Mind spinning. Not breathing. Quick gasps. Suck air.

Reach out.

His hand is there.

He grabs my sweaty palm without complaint, squeezing three times to ask if I’m okay. I shake my head. No. He leads me toward the soccer field. Toward quiet. He doesn’t let go so is there when I fall.

Seconds later, sun in my eyes, an outline of his face hovers, not too close. I am safe.

Flash Fiction Challenge over at Carrot Ranch

April 13, 2016 prompt: Helping – In 99 words (no more, no less) write about helping someone. What’s their situation? What’s yours? Do they think they need help? How is it received?

(I wrote this piece for last week’s prompt, “Agoraphobia: Write a response to an agoraphobic moment. Explore the character’s discomfort.” I used a different flash. I’m thrilled to be able to use School Function for this week’s prompt. Consider it a combo flash.)

Agoraphobia as defined by Mayo Clinic

My outer shell splits in two. It sits beside me, hollow and smiling, waiting for the next layer to be pulled apart and placed beside us.

There are six. I have six faces that are exactly and precisely me. Yet different.

Some eyes are blue, some green or brown. Some lips red, others pink or peach.

Each one me.

Each one not.

My lunch tray, full of steaming food, makes me gag. Clatter of a dropped fork, shrill pitch of laughter, blur of clothing… These crack my next shell.

Over and over until I am small.

Human nesting doll.

Source

Flash Fiction Challenge over at Carrot Ranch

April 2, 2016 prompt: Agoraphobia – In 99 words (no more, no less) write a response to an agoraphobic moment. Explore the character’s discomfort.

Agoraphobia as defined by Mayo Clinic