Arms, legs, the usual.
I also seem to be running the site.
I may get around to writing some actual stories at some point.
The tears flowed out of her. Years of pain, years of isolation, years of heartache, years of fear poured down her cheeks, soaking the bodice of her dress.
Nothing special had happened that day. Indeed, nothing special had happened that week. She had just reached a point where she could no longer face another day of holding it in, smiling and pretending that it was all OK.
It was not all OK. Looking inside herself, she saw nothing at all. An empty space, devoid of light, of joy, of hope. She felt that she could reach in and find nothing, yet felt sure that she'd cut her hands on jagged edges if she tried.
Eventually, spent, she wiped her face with trembling hands and stood on unsteady feet. She steeled her resolve and pushed through the air, still viscous with solitude, and got back on with the day.
Where did so many tears go? Each one a parcel of anguish, gifted to the world from her shattered soul. Maybe the final insult was that they simply vanished, the water evaporating, leaving only misery.
No prequels yet. Why not write one?
Comments (4 so far!)
Average reader rating 5.00/5
What's sad is that she cries out everything that she can't hold in, but is still left with misery.
- #425 Posted 7 years ago
- 5 out of 5
Very sad, and I can definitely relate. I especially liked the line about having to push through the air that was thick with emotion. So true. So true.
- #532 Posted 7 years ago
I am moved by the fact that this appears (by dint of this not being a sequel or prequel to the "Afterwards" story) to be a different person who also is wracked by misery. I am intrigued still further. I have a lot of sympathy and compassion for those in misery.
- #588 Posted 7 years ago
- 5 out of 5
Some days, this is me. Other days. I'm as jolly as a jolly thing. Life. Don't talk to me about life.
- #595 Posted 7 years ago
- Published 7 years ago.
- Story viewed 32 times and rated 3 times.
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