She never bothered to tell anyone. Why? Frankly no one cares. She voluntarily exiled herself to the room she hated most. Surrounded by clutter, she wallowed in pity. Hammering away at the keyboard. If she pounded hard enough surely the demons would break free. Hammering to release the wounds of past pains. A sense of loneliness and isolation from which she was born. She felt the word shame before she knew the meaning. An ache of being rejected by her whole clan. Unclean. Unworthy. Unwanted. Buried deep in her soul from the moment she took her first gasp of air.
Sounds like the story of my life.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I’ll let you in on a little secret Fred. My flash fiction is very rarely fiction. The story of my life too.
LikeLike
I have thought about writing fiction. I don’t think my blog audience would be interested in what I’d like to do.
LikeLiked by 1 person
try it, you never know. They might like it.
LikeLike
Bravo!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks Margaret. ❤
LikeLiked by 1 person
You are most welcome 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Wow, this is powerful!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks Terri. It sure felt good to get that out.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Powerful stuff, Jill. You’ve captured the essence of my Monday.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks. That’s the essence of my life lately. But the tides have to change. That’s inevitable.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Best wishes on that. 😊
LikeLiked by 1 person