Woke up on a different side of the mirror this morning, looking at a child who believed in herself and her dreams. I watched, helpless, as she was introduced to this devils’ haven.
I saw her life fly by, watched her sparkle flicker. Falter. Fade.
I miss being that child.
Gretchen Ivers is not quite sure why all of her stories turn out so morbid.
The front lawn was different now. Ten years had passed. Once neat and tidy, the years of neglect had not been kind.
The gate was open. An omen, perhaps.
I crossed through the high grass and weeds. I had come home and my heart was at rest.
Let it sleep.
Susan Gale Wickes spent many years in the newspaper industry, but is now devoting her time and energy to writing poetry and short stories. She recently had a poem published in Haiku Journal and has just discovered the challenge of creating 50-word stories.