She rolled to the edge of the bed. Tired, but not sleepy. Exhausted, yet becoming energized. Today would bring new things; she knew this deep in her bones. There wasn’t going to be anymore: this, anymore: us, anymore of everything she’d put up with.
Leaping from the front door of the home they’d shared, a light tinkling music from her car keys announced the occasion of her freedom. The world lay all before her, daring her to make her impression on it, for her to etch her name in the minds of those who’d doubted her.
The tires of the old rig sang on the pavement. They, too, felt the joy of starting over. They, too, knew good things would come. When she could properly harness her energy, she had the ability to recruit animals, plants, inanimate objects to further her purpose.
At once she felt light, though pervasively she felt pressure to make every moment count. “Momma, I’m freeeeeeeeeee!!” she said into the space of the interior of the car; her mother having passed on almost a year ago. Salty reservoirs began to release their stores upon her cheeks, too long held back, too long she hadn’t wanted anyone to see how they oppressed her.
It isn’t a life, she thought, when you can’t stand up for what you believe in. and whatever that is isn’t worth living, when your thoughts aren’t valued enough to be truly listened to.
under the poplars, cottonwoods, a rare white tupelo
she did what she thought she couldn’t, she picked up and went
wherever she landed, be it above or below
she’d manage, even if she ended up in a tenttags: creative-writing fiction
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