The stillness sustains you, it is the sustenance your soul needs. Not many people find it. Sam and I have.
My mother-in-law calls it superstition, but her mind is so noisy that she cannot move beyond petty things. Noise is the sepsis of your soul. It eats at you, poisoning you. She calls me a witch.
That’s okay. Her words cannot hurt me from the madhouse she’s sequestered in, many miles away from here. Maybe she will find her own stillness, find her own peace. She can’t do anything more to harm me and mine.
A persistent scratching pulls me out of my thoughts. I scowl at Sam. He looks guilty, stills his finger, his eyes begging and filled with tears.
I sigh.
“What?” I ask as I pull the gag from his mouth.
“Please, let me go,” he rasps.
In reply, I gag him again and wrap cloth around his hands, bound tightly as they are behind his back, so that he cannot move an inch.
I will have silence.
---
I... am sorry. That's not how it was meant to go.
Today's suggestions were:
- sepsis, from Barbara Harrison
- silence, anonymous
- sustenance/sustain/simplicity/superstition, from Cherie Osier
- sugar glider, from Sharna Steinert
- sequestered, sandwiched, from Donna Smith
---
This year's A to Z is flash fiction based on words provided by the community... which is you! Explanatory stuff HERE, Google sheet link HERE.
No comments:
Post a Comment