Light No Longer Reaches My Window

Curtains cannot keep out the weight of concrete pressing in. Light no longer reaches my window. The city piles over me. My skin turns yellow and thick dust gathers on the doorstep. Streets are filled with dogs. As much as I fear the side effects I need help – I open the pack and take the first tablet – 75mg. I feel sick and dizzy.

– Benjamin F Jones

About Graphite Bunny

I am a writer working in South Wales (UK). I love pizza, photography and moist clay. When it rains I catch drops in my open mouth. I create poetry, flash, absurdist snapshots and humorous fiction.
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3 Responses to Light No Longer Reaches My Window

  1. Oh dear D: It’s very sad to think that people have to go to such extremes as a cry for help. this is a most succinct and vivid portrayal of desperation.

    • I signed up for the counselling course instead of writing – it is much more in my price range. Depression and mental health is a theme that crops up so often in my writing.

      • I’m sure you’ll be a brilliantly empathetic counsellor, and perhaps it was meant for you to do this rather than the writing course. It’s not as if you can’t do writing at the same time. Training-wise — be warned, if it’s anything like the psychiatric nursing course from years ago (can’t speak for now) the early sessions include a great deal of tough self-examination of one’s mental processes, behaviour, and social interaction.

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