Only the boy - Writing Challenge Piece

Elliott was a boy who wrote things; towering stories that drowned the world in sorrow. Sometimes when he wrote at night the windows cracked. Pine boughs crashed in through the ceiling and it started to rain. Fat drops of water fell from the ends of his hair, he wiped his brow with a soaking sleeve and carried on. Sometimes when he wrote, his father was dead and his mother was dead, too. He lived alone on a dark island of madness. He wrote things that put out the sun forever.

Nobody knows anybody, he thought, scribbling. His head was aching. A dull throb issued from behind his eyes.

He'd gotten into an argument with his father after his mother appeared around the corner from the hallway and said to him, "My sweet one, how I love you is like the end of everything." She kissed Elliott on his lips, in a gesture so familiar and also long dead.



His father turned red. He watched her like she was something nimble and full of lean meat. She was his wife; she made him feel so empty inside. He wanted to be full like when they were young, to hold sway over when her lips stuck together minutely as she smiled. She didn't smile for him any more, only the boy.

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This post is an entry at Trifecta Writing Challenge. The deal is that you have to write a piece using the third definition of a given word in 33 -333 words. You should give it a try, too and link up here. This week's word is sway.

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