They were sitting in the front yard.
The small hellfire was playing with her imaginary friends.
Her brother's wife was laying on the green grass, her thoughts far away.
The September sun was shining and nearing its end.
She was sitting next to Annabelle, her laugh wild and untamed.
Annabelle could bathe in the sound.
She ran her hand through her wild, unruly hair.
A small face on her face.
Annabelle wasn't the prettiest.
She wasn't the biggest.
She wasn't slim.
She was neither sad nor happy.
She didn't have blond hair.
She didn't have blue eyes.
She wasn't rescued by her prince charming.
She wasn't interested in men.
She did not carry herself with proud nor self-hate.
She is Annabelle, she is all and nothing.
She is black.
She is beautiful.
Knowing who you are, isn't that all that matters?
YOU ARE READING
colors of society #wattys2017 [completed]
Short StoryWe all come in different shapes, sizes, and colors. Yet, white describes the only color society accepts, brown is cursed and judged, black is deemed, pink represents the innocence society is so obsessed with. Another unhealthy obsession a...
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