Trying Not to Hurt

I have no pearls of wisdom or even a review for you today. To be honest I’m not feeling very writerly today. However, I do need to blog today, so I shall push through the pain and write you a little bit of flash fiction.

(My next post will be on 12th as I am participating in the TCWT Blog Chain this month)

 

The wounds weren’t always there. Somedays, you wouldn’t notice I was dying. My illness was one of ebbs and flows, forget-me-nots and do-what-you-likes. One second was all it took for my life to burst into a multitude of colours or sink into a cave. I didn’t know who I would be when I woke up in the morning.

But… sometimes it was the best gift I could have been given. I had the chance to be someone different everyday. On Monday I was a jilted lover; Tuesday I was a man of wisdom; Wednesday I was a daddy’s girl. The rest of the week I was the me that hid under covers and fell into wanderings of a severely morbid turn. The one who slept with a knife under her pillow; the one who dreamt with a knife to his neck.

People tended not to see. I could never be sure if that was from design or from self-absorption, but no matter the reason it was my downfall.

The jilted lover became a woman scorned; the man of wisdom found himself jaded; the daddy’s girl was abandoned. I stopped hiding under the covers and began hiding behind escape, and the wanderings became my only thoughts. The pillow was got rid of.

As was my neck.

I was only trying not to hurt.

 

And on that cheery note I shall leave you in the hope that, when I read this post tomorrow or the day after, I will not groan in embarrassment at my attempt to be profound. Au revoir.

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