An inspired Fiction in 58

The following was inspired by this sign, as well as comments made by a fundamentalist Christian on the radio (hey, I was trying to find the local pubic radio jazz station Monday and ended up listening to this dude's ravings) that Jesus doesn't save the souls of those who kill themselves. I find that kinda harsh.
And yes, I've been a visitor to that kind of darkness.
But offing yourself solves nothing (and makes a terrible mess).

Anyway, this is what formed in my head this a.m. while walking the dogs. First whirl through, it came in at 55 words when I stopped to write it down. Three extra words. Glorious.

Stopped-motion
There is forward motion. There is standing still.
I was never one to lie too still. Climber, they said. Going places.
Yeah, I went places. Dark corners where light doesn’t penetrate.
It got old.
I got old.
Now I sit, motionless, alone. In a vast field of flowers. Dead, scorched brown.
The ragged hole in my temple smolders.