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Jeremiah fell into his padded leather chair, his breath escaping in a long huff. He felt the constraint of his tie, his suit coat, set one aside, loosened the other. His gaze was focused on a photo on his desk. He and Anne posed precariously over a long deep crevice in the sandstone of Rockbridge, each in their own brand of mock teetering, arms and hands spread wide and flailing, eyes glinting. The happy times before her illness began. He picked up the photo. It must have been the fiftieth time in three days. Heaviness clouded his chest and he unbuttoned his stiff collar. It took everything he had to drag himself to work now. There was no motivation. No future family. No Anne.
Swiveling his chair around from his desk, he hurls the photo in its heavy wooden frame, smashing the thick glass of his window, identical to every other in the 23 story building of steel girders and glass, running from floor to ceiling. It shatters, tinkles as it drops like a hundred wind chimes… Continue reading Short Fiction: Gifting Purpose