Mrs. Juniper rose each day at four o'clock in the morning. In the darkness she would drape herself in a black coat, and walk out to greet the unripe morning.
It was her aim in this daily ritual, to gather herself together before her husband woke. On most mornings, eight o'clock.
In this time that was not quite night and not yet day, no eyes were watching. She was neither a wife, a victim, or a barren woman. During these hours, her body owed no fruit, and her heart owed no vows.
Despite being reduced in size, she felt whole.
This cold April morning, the air was stirring. In this time that was not quite winter and not yet spring, Mrs. Juniper felt life breathed back into her bones. The bruises on her thigh and the soreness caging her neck, melted into the chill of the air.
Slowly yet without caution, Linda ran. Through the path, and into the woods. She had understood that each morning was in rehearsal for this moment. When she reached the clearing, she had decided.
She wasn't going to return by eight o'clock.
YOU ARE READING
2021 Writing
General FictionI've challenged myself to try and write (not every single day because I have miserably failed T_T) consistently in 2021. Hope to cultivate my craft as a writer! c :
