Friday Fictioneers-The Bell Jar


copyright-Claire Fuller

My mother smiled. “I know my baby wasn’t like that.”
I looked at her. “Like what?”
“Like those awful people. Those awful dead people at that hospital.” She paused. “I knew you’d decide to be all right again.”-Sylvia Plath

Celeste peruses shelves while her mind flutters.

Wishes for clarity that never comes.

Says prayers for bliss that won’t subside.

How does she slow her savage heart?

With words, music, and love.

Wants to make others see her.

Hear her.


She begs for forgiveness.

From God.




Is she Esther?

Caught in the Bell Jar?

Gasping for precious breath?

A force of nature.

Longing to be cared for like a child.

Unaware of her strength.

Her force.


She opens the book,

And begins to read.

Finding comfort in Plath’s darkness.

Sylvia, found no light.

Until death.

100 words (Genre: Hell, I don’t know.)

For anyone unfamiliar with Friday Fictioneers, we write 100-word stories. Stories based on a photo prompt, posted weekly on Wednesdays, on our master site: The stories run the gamut and the authors come from all over. Stop by Rochelle’s page to find out more. I promise, you won’t be sorry.

As I state every week, please criticize the hell out of my work. Either a red pen, or riding crop will suffice.

Friday Fictioneers-The Hand That Points The Way

Thanks to Rochelle for this prompt. A groovy photo from Joyce Johnson. I’m finding that this is kind of fun. Wonder what the hell I can come up with today.

Gargoyles? Demons? Ghosts? Vampires? Hmmm. What does it mean? Should I be scared? I’m not one for fear. I like the unknown. Should I follow the hand that points the way? Or should I turn back? The face below it is kind of garish and demented. But I find myself drawn to it. I put my hand to my lips and giggle. A nervous habit, I know. My impulsiveness takes over and I turn right. I walk past the metal work with the silly grin. I make my way down the darkened corridor. And find myself bathed in Heavenly light.