I am currently working on a short story to post. I'm super excited to get back into writing again, to be motivated. But it's been pretty slow lately - I can't seem to follow my own advice and push ahead. Perhaps I will try some writing exercises to help me loosen up. Anyway, I thought I would post a little sneak peek to give you an idea of what's coming up:
This is how I live now - in my memories. They are the only reason I am here, pushing deeper into this blackness, this rank existence. That and the fear. It is almost a comfort now, a reminder of everything I have lost and everything I have to lose. Without it I am nothing.
The aid comes in the room then and asks me if I want to sit outside for a while. I nod. She offers a hand and I almost slap it away. I don't need her help. But I take it because I am just an old woman who cannot let go of the past, even as I watch it spill through my fingers.
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