Selma
The ring hanging from her neck spoke of love lost. She was young enough that Jack wondered if she’d seen her 20th birthday. She’d seen tragedy too. The lines on her wrist spoke to that. He wondered how she came to be here in this cafeteria, scarred hands touching at the small gold ring on her neck.
Bette
After a moment she came to realize the runs in Bette’s stockings were meant to be there. The stretches and tears formed a lattice that crawled up her legs ending at the hem of her blue skirt. Not high fashion, but something different. Bette was like that. She tried to pull away from the mundane and into that place that Melanie hated–that place where every move she made was scrutinized and immediately judged.
Some Thoughts:
- Starts and fits as usual, but the flow of things is bubbling to the surface in a way that gives me hope. I think I’m on the right track here. Now can I get everything done in the timeframe needed?
- I wondered if I’d lost the joy of writing. Nope. I’m all in and 100% looking forward to getting to a place where writing is part of the rhythm and not something that requires me to create a rhythm.