BraveWrite, Week 3
She fears its gentle hands have found her again. It whispers in her ear all the things she shouldn’t to hear. The truth long gone, her heart long since battered, she welcomes the cold. It hollows her out. Vacant of emotion. It’s too late when she names it. #Depression
In the state of #jejune, we were all consumed by our fables. We were a unique center whose storms were unlike any other. The Gods aimed for us, small and insignificant though we KNEW different. But then our eyes opened. We wore others’ shoes and heeded our empathy.
Their trunks, china cabinet, and every nook and cranny served as a #cache for their precious items. The house seemed willing to burst at the seams with their collections. It was a glorified storage unit filled with the sentimental. She worried it would go up in flames
The world is full of the #esoteric. It haunts the realms of math and science. It teases everyone. But it belongs to the artists most of all. The ones who draw, paint, compose and write for themselves, hoping some will understand. They bare their hearts for acceptance.
Wanna know what I think? she asked all of a sudden.
What? His eyebrows raised above a curious gaze.
I think life is a marinade in which we all #marinate. It’s experiences, people, and choices are all the spices we added, She smiled and nudged him, Don’t you think?
The clock chimed #twelve in the middle of the night and summoned the witch from her workings. Her feet bounced down the stairs, jostling the book she held in her arms.
Ah, there it is, she said while flipping through the aged pages. Clearing her throat, she began to recite.
The abyss was #tempting, as always. It called to her in seductive whispers. It threaded its fingers into hers, holding her hand, pulling. Her shoulders drooped in defeat and matched the dark bags under her eyes. The image in the mirror wasn’t her so why continue?