Photo/ Melissa R. Bickel/ Short Story Slam #3
They think I won't leave. That the weather will keep me from leaving. That I have fear. That they will prevail.
I'm standing at the window, and not a drop of rain has fallen yet. The sky has the message. I will encompass you. The heavens always have a message. Sometimes to comfort. Today, no ray of hope.
A bolt from the mouth of creation says, I will put on a show of force that you haven't yet dreamed of. Well, I come from a place where a lack of sunlight enters with the day, and dusk is just the time to stoke the coals.
I'll have some soup before I leave, the pot sitting daily at the back of the stove. I'll add something that was hanging in the cold-room, after I take a bowl, so that they will not suspect a departure.
I'm going. Not with shoes. Not with skins for warmth. When I cut the cord I will go into the world like a babe. Let them just try to follow. Let them just try to stop me.
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