Every Sunday Evening

ElshaHawk LoA

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.


Alarm beeps.


No prequels yet. Why not write one?

« Write a prequel

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
  • 0
  • 5 out of 5
ElshaHawk LoA

ElshaHawk LoA

You got it.

  • #1329 Posted 6 years ago
  • 0

Author's prompt text:

Life's too short to fear Sunday evenings.


This story's tags are

  • Published 6 years ago.
  • Story viewed 10 times and rated 1 times.

All stories on Ficlatté are licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 License. What does this mean?