(PHOTO CREDIT: JOY PIXLEY)
Similar to the craggy, crooked, dry and withered growth resembling an arthritic hand bursting forth from the hard and unforgiving aridity of the land, John’s life was untended, unbeknownst and unforgiving.
It was not always this grotesque. In fact, it started out in a deceptively refreshing and clean fashion just like the clear blue sky forming an enviable canopy over the barren landscape.
“It must have been a prescient parent who named you John” a publisher had once waxed eloquently. “The next grapes possessing wrath would be plucked from your vineyard!” Mighty praise indeed! But the beautiful beginnings merely flattered to deceive. A decent success with John’s first effort was followed by a deluge of polite rejections and etiquette laced return mails bearing his manuscripts. John even remembered the exact day when he made bourbon his soulmate; the day when a condescending letter accompanied his unopened manuscript!
There would be no East Of Eden. Just disenchanted, disillusioned and a disheveled John left to eke out a living shoveling sand and sifting pebbles for a predatory Oil & Gas Company, making tons of money at every poetic gush of oil!
(WORD COUNT: 189)
Written as part of Sunday Photo Fiction. Write a story of around 200 words based on the photo prompt given (above). Hosted by Susan Spaulding. For more details visit HERE.
To read more of the stories based on this week’s prompt, visit HERE.