Sunshine spilled in through the small spaces o f the blinds, finding its way over her body struggling to sleep. As her eyes twitch, fighting off the images beneath her lids, the sun’s invasions intensified whatever was happening in her subconscious mind. Instinctively, she lifted the knitted teal and orange throw above her head, in an attempt to shield away the torturous moment between her mind and mind’s eye. The vibrating sound of her cell phone alarms startled her, but only slightly as she pressed snoozed, eyes still closed. She wiped her eyes as to erase the dream’s journey. Finally, she forced open her eyes, perhaps too full to endure anymore. Routinely, she reached over to her handcrafted nightstand, which held her journal and favorite pen. She sat up, letting her wild locs fall freely, and did what she has been doing since the arrival of these images.
She wrote, tears forming, trapped in the corner of her eyes. She wiped them prematurely as she always did. Afraid the falling tears would bring the written words beneath them to life. She was oblivious, or perhaps in denial, to the fact that reality already occurred. That she has been a living result of a motherless child. Not that her mother was deceased or even absent, not physically at least.
She wrote away at this nagging dream, needing to put the pieces together, where she is running from danger into the arms of her mother. Towards her mother she runs. To safety she needed. To safety she thought.
To Be Continued….
I took a writing workshop class over the summer and while it was helpful hearing other people’s critique of and reading each others’ work, it was most difficult for me to write during the prompts. My mind would just shut down. Perhaps it was me thinking too much and/or comparing myself to the other writers in the workshop, all who are SOOOO brilliant. Any who, this was the first (and perhaps the only) piece that came freely to me during a writing prompt session. I said I’d come back to this and when I do, I will share its growth…