In the heat of summer, we began cleaning my deceased great grandmother’s home. Heavy with pregnancy, I pulled the old shoes from the bottom of the armoire. I felt overwhelmed by the chore and my grief of losing her before Adam was born. Sweat slid down my swollen belly as I filled the first box of many. Old shoes were easy to throw out, but what about the the other antiques? The baby kicked while I worked. Then the nosebleed began. Blood poured down my shirt and the old shoes. Distressed, I pinched my nostrils, and ran outside for relief.
100 words exactly!
Genre: autobiographical, memory, hell I don’t know.
Thank you Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting Friday Fictioneers. I’m happy as heck to be inspired to write again. I’m hoping that this priming of the pump will cause the words and stories to flow for me again. Dear Readers, please go to Rochelle’s site to read all of the entries.
“This was something she would keep hidden within herself, maybe in place of the knot of pain and anger she had been carrying under her breastbone…a security blanket, an ace up her sleeve. She might never use it, but she would always feel its presence like a swelling secret stone, and that way when she let go of the rage, she would not feel nearly as empty.” ― Jodi Picoult, Mercy
Raven Haired Beauty
Shoes on Point
She stands on her own
She extends her arms
And her beautiful legs
Feels the music in her soul
No need to hear it
She doesn’t need anyone to help her dance
She stands on point
Fingers brush through her raven hair
She holds her delicate arms above her head
And does a perfect Chaînés
In that first turn, she lets go
And knows that she does not need him to hold her up anymore
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