On the oak end table, next to the big, plush, leather couch in this living room, there was a photo frame. Inside the frame was a picture of a man, in beige camouflage with a huge black dog. This man was my dad, but I would have never known. He was stationed in Afghanistan before I was four years old, and he never came back. I was never told why; there was no one to tell me. This man was just a fragment. Fragments of a dad I never knew. Fragments of a mom who never cared about me. Fragments of a stepfather who beat me incessantly. Fragments of a sister who had leukemia and died at twelve. Fragments of a brother addicted to heroin and apathy. Everything was a fragment, smashed to pieces, and it all got taped together to make me.
I was broken.
“Photo Fragments” is my submission the 57th FFfAW Challenge (Check it out here). It is composed of 143 words.
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Very poignant and powerful! I love how you described the plush furniture in the beginning which seemed to make “things” more important to the mom and stepfather than their relationship with their son. Wonderful story!
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Thanks again Priceless Joy! Yes, I didn’t even really realize the shift in attention until I finished writing, but I think it turned out well 🙂
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It did turn out very well! It seemed to help highlight where their priorities lie.
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Yes indeed!
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A powerful story from a very different prospective. Well written …
Isadora 😎
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Thank you so much Isadora! I’m glad you enjoyed it. 🙂
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Wow! How profound and poignant.
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Thank you so much!
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You are welcome Collin
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