Grey not Gray

So, when I was writing this, I vaguely remembered that I have this GIANT list of writing prompts. Okay, giant is perhaps a bit much, but that hardly matters. It's called 100 Themes Writing Challenge. It's still a huge work in progress, but it's full of fun stuff.

This week's story isn't really based on a "prompt" per say, but rather a fun little ficlet I found on Pinterest (because I find nearly 100% of my prompts there). The link to this can be found here, as a photo, (please, PLEASE, PLEASE let me know if this disappears, I can link it from another source).

The work below, titled "Shades of Grey" has ABSOLUTELY nothing to do with that blasted book series. It was number 34 on the list of 100 (as can be found above), so please don't bother with those sorts of jokes. Besides, this is actually rather sad and a bit depressing. I killed John (sorta).

Shades of Grey - An original work by Julie Lynn Thorpe (C) 2016

     The sky was grey. The clouds were grey. His bloody Belstaff was grey. The man standing next to him was grey, or rather his clothing and hair were grey. The damn stone was grey. It was as if the colour was stolen from the world and it made him sick. He could only pray it didn’t bleed into his mind palace.

     “Lestrade,” he murmured, his deep voice soft with confusion. “What is this?”

     The DI looked over at the tall man huddled in his coat briefly before looking back at the stone in front of them. He sighed and ran a hand through his ever-greying hair. Sherlock now wore the same look that John had when the taller man…

     “He waited every day for you, Sherlock,” Lestrade huffed, shoving his hands in his pockets and shifting his feet uneasily.

     “It,” The consulting detective paused, sounding choked. “It says John Holmes on the stone. Why?”

     Lestrade laughed.

     It sounded dead.

     It felt dead.

     He felt empty.

     “He loved you, Sherlock. He really did.”

     “Why haven’t you changed your name?”

     Lestrade blinked, reeling slightly from the change of topic. “What?”

     Sherlock’s multifaceted gaze flicked over him. “You and my brother,” another strangled sound. “Sentiment, Lestrade. Surely you two have done something about it now.”

     “That doesn’t matter,” Lestrade hissed. “John is what matters right now, you idiot! And he’s gone.”

     “Obvious!”

     The word shattered the silence, yet pulled in more, something worse than silence.

     “Mycroft did this, Sherlock, changed his name as he was…” Lestrade broke off, dropping his gaze to his shoes. “He signed the paperwork, you two are, were legally wed for a bit.”

     Sherlock whimpered.

     Lestrade said nothing.

     “I can’t hear anything,” he muttered after a moment. “The noise in my head is silent and there’s so much damn grey everywhere.”

     The DI had no reply to that. What do you tell the man who clearly couldn’t see that the man in front of him was utterly smitten with him?

     Nothing.

     “I’m, uh,” Lestrade sighed. “I’m going to visit your brother. You’ll, you’ll be alright here?”

     “I’m fine. It’s fine,” Sherlock huffed, waving at hand at the older man. A clear dismissal. “I just… A few moments, alone, yes.”

     He stood, listening as Lestrade was driven away by one of Mycroft’s minions, leaving him in silence and utterly alone as he stared at the name on the stone. Underneath his birthday and day of death was etched a few lines of sentiment.

     John Watson was beloved by many, loved by few, and cared for only one. He saved many lives while he was alive and we’ll miss him when he’s gone. May God bless his soul.

     “John,” Sherlock shuddered, dropping to his knees. “Damn it, John… Why couldn’t you wait a few more days? I was coming home, John, I was coming home…”

     He stayed that way for hours, hand pressed against the name, letting tears flow freely from his cheeks as the world became grey. Who was he without his blogger?

     The sky had no answer, nor did the stone. And, as he had feared, even the walls of his mind palace had become grey to match the world around him.

     “Goodbye, John…”

I'm a sucker for comments and critics. Let me know what you think down in the comment section below! Thank you for reading!

(If you find you have a desire to share this elsewhere, PLEASE PLEASE let me know first. I have shared it in a couple of places, so I know it's out there already, but for the love of all that is holy, ASK ME to share this. I'll probably give it the okay, but I'd like to know where you're sharing it and if you're going to give me proper credit for it. It is my work after all. Thanks! :3 )

30 Day Challenge - Day 5

I'm such a terrible slacker and I know it. It's been nearly a month since I last wrote and that's terrible. I got back from my 3-week vacation and decided that I just didn't want to bother with it. And then that couple of days to myself turned into weeks cleaning and working on our house so that it could be rented out to a brother-in-law by next week and blah blah blah. So, we'll skip all my excuses and move on with the actual challenge for today.

Day 5: A time you thought about ending your own life.

Well, let's talk about a dark topic, shall we?

If I were to be brutally honest... Yes. Multiple times. But, I can't, or won't, take your pick, because I am a coward. I can't even bear the thought of hurting myself on purpose for any reason. It would hurt too much, I can't stand the sight of lots of blood or even talk about it sometimes.

When have I felt these moments? Well, due to my odd mix of anxiety and rare spurts of depression, only on rare occasion when I felt I've done something wrong, when my husband and in-laws fight, when I feel at my lowest (which is actually more often than I'd like to admit), etc. Hmm, maybe I shouldn't say rare occasion. I feel depressed several times a month, though I don't think about ending it unless I've gone down as far as I can go.

Besides being a coward, I don't end it because I actually have a lot I want to do with my life. I want to be an author, I want to teach and inspire kids, I want to ride horses on the beach or on our ranch property, I want to travel the world, so on and so forth. I want to do so much, so I wouldn't end it all before I could do any of those things.

Depression, anxiety, thoughts of suicide aren't things to take lightly. I know I need help and, as soon as I get on some good health insurance and can afford it, I will find a counselor and a doctor who can help me deal with my problems. Yeah, that probably means taking medication, but if it will help me look at my life a little better, than I'm all for it.
So, if someone in your life is experiencing these thoughts, listen to them. Offer help if they want it, but don't force it. Sometimes all it takes is for someone to listen. For me, that's all I need most of the time is a shoulder to cry on and pat me saying, "It'll be alright. I'm here for you."
If you, yourself, are thinking about ending it, find someone to talk to before you go. National Suicide Prevention Lifeline is a good place to call or chat online. Google it, there are lots of sites that can be helpful. Heck, send me an email and I'd be glad to talk to you, so long as you keep living for something. Every life is precious.

(AFTERTHOUGHT: Robert Williams died of suicide, and I hadn't thought about it until after I finished this.)

Down, but not out

A while back, I posted that I was taking an exam in Del Rio: The English Language Arts and Reading 7-12 TEXES exam. Remember this little rant? Yeah, that mess of a trip.

Well, I got my results back today, in little less than a month. Awesome, right? Well, I'm glad the results got here within a month, but the actual results themselves? Yeah, those are less than satisfying. I needed 240 points for a passing exam score and I, sadly, only made 231.

"Oh, but Julie, that's not so bad. 9 points away, that's good." Yeah, yeah... It's good alright, but that's not what I was expecting at all. My heart fell to through my chest and I spent the better part of an hour crying. I was crying over a stupid test. Ugh, seriously, this depression and anxiety shit can be a real bother. So much so that right now, I can't even talk about the exam without tearing up. Hell, I can't even think about it too much with wanting to break down and cry like my six year old niece does when she's having a tantrum. But I'm better than that, so I try and shove it all away, you know, to be strong and I tell myself that I can take it again in September.

So, another trip to Del Rio (we have a full sized spare for the Mazda, so no worries there), but we're going to make sure there's a jack in the vehicle. Whatever, I'll manage, right?

Well, I might not if I hadn't made a board on Pinterest called "Needing A Little Pick-Me-Up". It's a fantastic board for me to glance at if I'm feeling down about something (such as this exam), or if my anxiety and depression are attempting to get the better of me. It's full of little pictures and sayings that inspire uplifting and happy thoughts.

For example, the one thing I have going through my mind right now is from my beloved board: "Failure is a bruise, not a tattoo." - Jon Sinclair. It's been mighty helpful so far, and it'll probably be my motto for the next day or so while I take time to accept my scores and seek help applying for my online classes. I'll probably sub this coming school year, while I attempt to study and gather my wits, so that I can study and make a bit of money on the side, since my crochething business isn't moving very fast. (Feel free to check that out, by the way.) I may make a few things in Paint Rock colors and see if anyone wants to buy them. (Maroon and white, Indians)

Thanks for dropping by and reading. :D