Every Sunday Evening
Ficlets and Ficly survivor, FicMom, and Mistress of Well-Intentioned Indecision and Goddess of Unrequited Love. @ElshaHawk @HawkandYoung
The house is silent and dark except for the light above the couch. I sit with a book, trying to disappear into its world so my dreams will be more full of fantasy and less full of reality.
I yawn. My arms and legs weigh a million tons, my eyelids keep slipping closed. I close the book, head full of handsome princes and evil queens and knights. Crawling under the covers I close my eyes.
Work place worries invade my thoughts. They have had me tossing and turning. What if this? Should I do that? Would this idea work better? Change or stay the same? Well, something has to change.
I wake to use the bathroom. I was dreaming about how my bosses were not happy and I kept running and hiding, putting the weak ones behind me for protection, looking for a way out. It wasn't my fault. I was trying. I was going to do... something.
The prince didn't save me. I tumbled down a ravine and walked for miles. No end in sight. I go back to sleep.
No prequels yet. Why not write one?
Comments (2 so far!)
Average reader rating 5.00/5
This is lovely. What a relatable piece of text, and the form offers a little insight into the effect the speaker's job has on their psyche. This is a person who's been beaten into linearity, it seems to me.
- #1325 Posted 6 years ago
- 5 out of 5
You got it.
- #1329 Posted 6 years ago
Author's prompt text:
- Published 6 years ago.
- Story viewed 10 times and rated 1 times.
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