Stories - FD Thornton

  I‘ve been writing a shit ton lately but none of it I’ve felt much like publishing. While I’m usually not afraid of exposing myself in word, lately I’ve been more inclined to just keep things to myself. I suppose most storytellers go through that, especially if you run out of things to say. But to be honest, it’s not like I’ve run out of thoughts. As much as those thoughts I’ve been thinking might be a bit disturbing to some people’s ears. So I’m doing what my Grandma Thornton taught me and just keeping my mouth shut.   Living in a world of psychobabble and instant answers, we tend to drift towards the easy answer. But sometimes smarts aren’t the answer to your pain. So what can you do? You could search for answers to the pain yourself, which is what I did. For years being the troubled person that I am, I kept all that pain to myself. Without even a companion to truly confide in. So I wondered the desert till I stumbled upon the teachings of a selfless little man. That taug...

  After drinking my witches brew from my World’s Greatest Grandpa coffee cup, I chewed my gummy vitamins and typed these words. While somewhere in the back of my mind, the dreams that awoke me early in the morning were still swirling   in my head. They were images of friends long ago, that gave me a place of refuge; still buried in my memory, but gone for me to see. But it’s those memories that shaped my future into the now, where I live today. Dressed in the dullest of colors, grey with just a splash of spring. I venture out into a world that no longer knows me. Typing out lines of self-defecation and woe to all that care to read. Just a lost man in a lost world of instant gratification and 10 second blips of fake charm. All chasing that almighty dollar so they can afford to make their own blips of self-gratification. I don’t mean to sound so angry, I’m just grieving over the losses in my dream. Now facing a world not nearly as innocent as I was back then. So what type of...

  My mood of the morning pretty much matches the scene outside. All foggy and damp with all the stillness you’d imagine, after a good horror movie the night before. When you get troubling news, it hits you a certain way. Even though you are not the one affected. I took a shower and put on my stoic face staring intently at the frown lines I developed over the years. They’re the same ones my dad had along with most of that side of my family. Dressed up like it’s springtime with my secondhand   Izod shirt and Wal-Jacked shorts and t-shirt. Looking like I want to belong to the yacht club on Jekyll, knowing I ain’t worth the money of a dockhand. But it’s my fantasy and I’m sticking to it. No different than some Biker and Redneck want-a-be’s I know. But we all got to stay in our lane, don’t we? Or at least that’s what we are told. Like the stoic that has to be strong when on the inside they’re about to fall apart. So while my skin is way too pale to be a yachtsman and my bank ac...

  Every morning I take a total of 18 different medications that I have been prescribed by six or seven different specialist. Some of those medications I take three times a day, others I take twice a day, while a few I take only once a day. If your keeping count, that’s a total of 31 pills a day. Most all of them are pretty essential for keeping me upright and operating fairly normal. I suppose I could look at all this tragically and feel sorry for myself. While I sometimes do throw myself a pity party, for the most part I take it all in stride. Seeing it as the price I pay for making piss poor decisions during my life. But I was the one that chose to do all that stupid shit. So it’s 31 pills and several doctor visits a year, plain and simple. But since tiptoeing to the edge of death, I realized I’d much rather live. So I’ve made most of the necessary changes I needed to keep my ass going. Spiritually speaking, most of my family and friends think I’m going straight to hell. And amon...

  Well here we are, trying to kick start yet another Middle Eastern War. All while we got our first Blood Moon of the year this week. No matter what side you are on in this conflict or rather or not you feel it’s justified over diplomacy. There is still innocent blood being shed on the ground. Yet I am more than certain Churches, Mosque, and Synagogues will be praying for their side to win. With a few scattered about ready for the “End Times”. I myself am just shaking my head that it has come to this, where innocent men, women, and children are sacrificed on the alter of old men drunk with power. Under the excuse of obeying God and/or distracting from the truth. Where is the God of Jesus, Mohammed, or The Toran in any of this? Blood has been shed and the majority of the people of the world are seemingly helpless to stop it. Revenge and paranoia are the words of the day. What has been started a thousand times before has been started again.   I don’t mean to ruin what is ...

Pinterest   On yet another shitty morning, the rain slowly pours outside. The pills are scattered in their usual 4 4 3 pattern across the pad, as I stir my morning witches brew to swallow them all. Scattered across my mind is a Madonna-like figure in all her glory baring herself to me. In a seamless dance of attention unlike most women I’ve known. But now that the pills are gone and there’s nothing but the rain and the visions in my head of her lingering attention. But beyond a symphony of poetic words, my mind drifts to nothingness. While the rest of the world blows its horns and screams down the highway. I remain ignorant to the noise, while still hearing it. Offering my mind up to relentless silence that rings in my ears. For the sake of the words, my testament stands. Unholy in its voice, unloved on the face of things, most deeper than I care to be know. For I am more than just the sum of my parts: passion, water, light, earth, and air. So today in this moment of revelation...