Link for the story: "The Voice that Would Not be Silenced"

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Hi! Good to see you guys over here!

You're not the child I birthed and raised! the mother said,

implying a daughter of hers
would never “restrict her freedom”
by asking not to discuss certain things

I’ve been disowned, thought the daughter, feeling:

grief at being rejected again
relief in letting go
and a most surprising freedom

I've been hanging out at the library a lot lately. I love it there, and appreciate librarians so much.

*These are real-life examples that have happened to real, live women.

E-pocalypse 2/2

“Maybe I can still print – oh. Oh no. The data center that stores our photos must’ve been hit already. All those memories… gone.”

“Not gone, babe. We still have the actual memories, and each other. Come outside with me. Isn’t it the most gorgeous sunset you’ve ever seen?”

#microfiction #dialogue-only #fiftywords

The whole remaining month of November felt like a continuing string of variations on those same themes: grief interrupted by toilets needing cleaning and writing contests needing entering. Mourning punctuated by celebratory traditions. Existential dread accompanied by laundry.

Like I said, surreal.

Love it! Saw one of these in my backyard the other day.

Oops, there's a pronoun on their sign.