Saturday Centus is up to new tricks this week, or at least its creator is. Our good friend Jenny has graciously (?) granted us 200 words to flesh out our offerings a little more than usual. It's been an interesting challenge, to say the least. The prompt, not included in the word count, is in a different font.
Misery and Me
©2011 Susan Noyes Anderson
Misery loves company, they say. I say right back to them that if that’s true, he makes a piss poor host...the kind who keeps the windows latched and draped, doors closed and bolted tight against the searing light of day.
Oh sure, the old wretch let me in––flung wide the gate, in fact––but getting out is not so easy; in those early days, I helped him build a wall. (The wall was built long ago.) We laid it brick by brick, the mortar laced with grit and gravel. It stands right around the garden, now gone brown.
Why will I sugarcoat this thing? The yard is colorless, no hint of brown at all.
It’s been three years, and though I still can hear the words that stripped my soul, they’re softer now and moved from stab to sting. Time heals all…wounds all heels…reveals the age-old truth that pain is mortal, too. My pain is dying slowly. Misery watches, waits with baited breath.
Some days, the garden almost beckons, hums quite faintly. Now and then, I see a flash of green, a blade of grass. Most of the bricks are loose now, and (God willing) one might fall...one more…one more…one more…and me...
Set free at last.