The city was coming to life. As the sun touched the flat roofs of the houses it turned their sand coloured stone bright white.
Rafa sat on the balcony watching his neighbour’s washing drifting in the morning breeze. He rubbed his aching eyes and for a moment tried to forget about the plan.
Last night had been another where sleep had come in snatches. The dreams of Kaliq still refused to leave him in peace. One felt so real he had been forced to get out of bed and check his brother’s room.
It was empty, of course. The sheets were smooth and clean. The routine of doing Kaliq’s washing had been hard to break. Rafa was the practical one, getting the shopping from the local market, keeping the place clean, paying the bills. All Kaliq did was hand over a little cash when he had some: which had grown less frequent in recent years.
When Kaliq did manage to sell a print it was never for much. Rafa failed to understand how painting, which gave his brother so much joy, could also bring him down with such a crash. The high Kaliq would get when he worked on a new piece raced through his system like a drug. It would infect Rafa as well. He could come home at night, and no matter what mood that days work had left him in, his spirits would be lifted.
The bad times brought them both pain as well. Kaliq would agonise over the lack of interest in his pictures. Rafa would feel the black cloud begin to settle in the apartment, watching as his brother drank himself into oblivion. It made no difference what Rafa said, Kaliq would never listen.
Rafa finished the last of the water from the bottle and placed it on the small white table in front of him. His eye caught the movement of a shirt on the washing line across the road. For the briefest of moments he saw it as a body, as Kaliq’s. The memory made his pulse race.
It had been two months since he had come home to find Kaliq hanging by the window. Rafa’s hands had been shaking as he tried to cut his brother down. Each second of that struggle had felt like he was also being choked. It had all been for no good. Kaliq had done the deed hours earlier. No amount of pounding on his chest would start his heart again. Rafa had been left alone, not being able to understand why his brother had felt death was his only way out.
He picked up the empty bottle from the table and pushed himself out of the chair. In the small kitchen he placed the bottle next to the sink, then he turned to the table. On it sat his winter jacket. He lifted it up, feeling the extra weight, and carefully put it on. The zip, which normally proved difficult to fasten, slid up with ease.
In the hall he checked to make sure none of the wires were showing. He locked the front door without thinking, his mind was elsewhere. Soon he would see Kaliq again and they would both be happy.
—————
11 September 2009
Thursday was World Suicide Prevention Day, backed by the International Association for Suicide Prevention.
Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-Share Alike License
<<< The Shrine
The Naked Man >>>
My other flash fiction stories.
A weekly round-up of Friday Flash Fiction.
Suicide + a suicide bomber. That’s a lot of destruction in one short story. Very atmospheric, I especially enjoyed the white shirt flapping in the breeze. The sentence that included ‘done the deed’ did jag a little, but, other than that, I though your writing was quite lyrical. Nicely done.
LOL if you clicked on my name from the previous comment, it would take you to my quilting blog :) If you want to read my effort, it’s at http://tensecondsaday.blogspot.com
Dark. Good job.
Wow.
Very powerful stuff, here. Evocative, painful, and a perspective that’s very thought provoking.
This is a provocative piece. Well done.
Wow, that was quite dark. Excellent story!
This will touch so many of us in the writing community. As artists, we are more prone to the highs and lows of life that others can dismiss. It is our emotional spring that allows us to create, and yet proves our biggest source of danger. You’ve captured it beautifully.
A disturbing tale. Very well written. It took a second to figure out what wires may be showing, a nice subtle touch. Nice job.
~Chris
You gave us a nice visual and insight into the despair of the brothers. My favorite part was the shirt flapping in the breeze too. Also, when the surviving brother sat and drank and went to the kitchen, I was wondering if he was going to take up where his brother left off…maybe doing the same things he did like drinking (which he was doing) and finishing the painting his brother worked on. The ending was a nice twist.
Die infidel. Die die die.
This was excellent. Completely excellent. Well, well done.
Thanks for all the comments guys. Very much appreciated. Made all the better because I wrote it while on the train and had to fit in some (very) late night editing to get it posted by Friday morning.
Heartbreaking. I can’t imagine what life would be like without my sister, so this story is very real to me.
~2
Very disturbing and very sad. Great job.
Yikes! Very disturbing, but very well done. One thing that did confuse me was, “The zip, which normally proved difficult to fasten, slid up with ease.” Wouldn’t the jacket be tighter, or has he wasted away in his grief?
~jon
@Jon The zip line was left over from the first draft and was linked into Rafa’s hands shaking. The rest got cut, but I left this in as I thought it was a nice quirk: one of those unusual things that happens to you when you’re least expecting it. Like the front door not sticking for once when everything else is going horribly wrong.
I was in two minds whether to leave it in or not, and I suppose you’ve answered my question. One confused reader is one too many for something so simple as this. :)
What I like best is the dichotomy between the atmosphere of the piece – which came across as light (the morning breeze, clean linens, white table, water) and the darkness of the grief and sadness. It is quite striking – I enjoyed it thoroughly!
As others have commented, I liked the difference in atmosphere between the outside world and the interior landscape of the narrator. Powerful stuff.
A dark and very powerful piece. Well done.
Wow.
Culture, ideology, faith, politics, the struggling artist’s lot in life…You managed to get a lot into the story without it being overwhelming. A great example of how flash fiction can be brief, but still be complete.