Joseph Murch
Bio
I write to use my other paintbrushes in words. I am an artist first, but I have always felt the same way about writing as I do art. I have written and shared art for Ello and Booksie prior.
Stories (2)
Filter by community
Five Souths to North
Elizabeth Sixty-four years is a long time to not see the world in the color of love. Did it ever exist, she often wondered? She had felt contained; she had been a tormented prisoner from within. When she first learned of the news, yes, she had felt sorrow achingly bite her heart for a moment, but it had been such a long time to feel the chains of life burdens covering her soul. She had once been a woman of grace and passion, yet she could not remember those days outside of the color black. “Sixty-four years…,” time whispered to her elderly ears which no longer carried the same surround sound of her youth. Her senses only carried the skeleton of youthful power which once was but no longer here. The control of another exerted its imprisoning force even now only moments later. Her back ached fresh of laundry and kitchen duties. Much was required of a woman she had been so reminded all of her life. He held wealth, but since the death of a child he demanded nothing less than servitude. Her life of eighty-three years had left her arthritic and every tendon screaming in pain; it always sang the song in the painful pitch of the banshee.
By Joseph Murch4 years ago in Fiction
The Locket
He did not understand today. He sat in his room awaiting for the group to arrive. His room was gray, the only color he had ever known. The walls were the same from floor to ceiling. The ceiling itself was this same wretched neutrality. The floor was dull to the point of no different. He had other colors in life such as the green blanket upon his bed, colored images in textbooks, and small objects and signs placed throughout the metallic confines of the ship he lived endless days, months, and years to in a drab existence. Always there was only gray, nonetheless. He had a small end table near the bed, the bed itself, a closet, and a desk filled with his drab uniforms. All of which were gray. The room was without windows. He had no understanding of day and night, but grayness was everywhere. In his hands, however, he held the locket she had given him. It was not gray. The heart was rose gold with a ruby inlaid, and he only knew this because she had said so. He only knew it was as beautiful as her voice. The chain gleamed like her eyes singing life as it had done when he first met her months ago. He held it tight in his hands as he had done endlessly since...well, since he did not understand today nor did he understand since either. He only knew that his gut was tied up in knots and his heart was empty. He saw the door handle turn, and they entered his room. He looked only down as they entered.
By Joseph Murch5 years ago in Fiction
