Sky Blossom

A young girl searches for hope.

It was October morning and about half the world was sound asleep or maybe even walking their dog. It was morning‘s like this when I wished I had a dog. Outside the leaves had begun to fall and were then carried away by the whispering winds. My eyes drooped over my fatigued body as I curled up on the cracked pavement outside of His apartment. He doesn’t know I’m out here. Sometimes out here is better than being anywhere. It’s being out here where I dread to be, but the thought of being elsewhere worries me with disgust.  Mama says He handles me this way because He loves me. I wonder how much love one person can give. We never did communicate in any way Mama and I. The last thing I remember her telling me was something about getting a good paying job and as I turned away she laughed.  I thought maybe she’d at least write a letter, but who am I kidding… its Mama. 

The light inside of His room suddenly turns on. I have five minutes, maybe less. Time is everything to me and I’ve mastered counting twenty minutes in my head. I got to say I’ve gotten really good at it. I can’t afford to be off a minute not even a second because the time never pauses. The pain is never on mute and I am constantly reliving each day.  I wake up to go to sleep, and I go to sleep to wake up. That’s all I really look forward to each day. Oh, and maybe the cornbread that I occasionally sneak into my mouth at around 8:15. At 8:15 He watches jeopardy and sometimes even romantic movies from the 60’s.  I quietly tiptoe to my opened window where I’ve placed an old piece of wood as a surface to support my weight. I slowly step on the wood and put one foot inside the room. My exposed wound touches the cold glass and scrapes off some of my skin. I quickly climb in and close the window. I’ve made it and have one minute left. I can hear him walking in the next room as he mumbles to someone on the phone. I’m not allowed to use the phone. Who would I call anyway, no one would care. Sometimes I dream that Henry calls me asks me to go away with him. I tell him yes with a half smile.
The footsteps get closer. 

Author's Note

I chose to write about one of the many issues in this world. What is this piece missing? opinions, anyone?

Reviews

[Anthony Hart-Jones]

Well, it's evocative. The style is good and it's well-crafted, but it feels like I need just a little more to really understand what it is that I'm reading. I usually don't mind this kind of story, but I just want a little more and that probably says something for your skill.

I get impressions of a virtual prisoner returning from an illicit escape, a small victory over her (I think it's 'her') tormentor or tormentors. There's no real sense of achievement though, no feeling of getting one over on them, which gives it a bit of a depressing atmosphere. She seems to be defeated, rebelling for the sake of rebellion and gaining nothing.

In the end, it's a very sad piece. I think it could do with a little more context, but I accept that it's probably personal taste as much as anything else.

[Monica]

Thanks so much for the review! Definitely a tormentor. Im still working on the rest of the story, But will take up on your advise.