Photo Story: Breaking Point

15762872911_3636a81775_kThe view is better now, a verdant hillside shattered, not one crimson setting sun but hundreds, the dusty smell of late summer drifting in. And somewhere out there, in the tall grass and scattered stones—freshly turned earth, the shell that remains after the last neuron quit firing, after I finally made him shut up.


I should change the glass before his mother comes wondering, hang a curtain, scatter seeds on the bare earth. But I will miss the way the sun scatters through the fractured glass, all his yelling cut to whispers, my breath, and the bright quiet.


Melinda McCamant is a writer and photographer living in Portland, Oregon. You can find select stories and recipes at
Photo credit: Thomas Hawk

7 Responses to “Photo Story: Breaking Point”

  1. Nadiye says:

    Thrown off his shoulders… crack!
    Dishes hurled… crash!
    The strained yelling through the door…
    Alcohol never sat upon her tongue, yet impacted her so greatly. Every time he walked through the door, her heart would drop to the floor and fracture. The foul smell he brought with him made the room spin. Laying in her dark, cold room she thinks of better times, but he always finds a way to creep in. Everyday she must hold in her emotions, her hurt. She holds it in but her heart takes the strike. It breaks a little every time… Until it shattered.

  2. Cyndee Begallia says:

    Brilliant. Melinda! I am so thrilled so see what you’ve been thriving with! Yay!

  3. joyona medhi says:

    Each word sent down shivers.
    Hat’s off!

  4. Elaine McKay says:

    So good. Love it.

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