Two little elves frolicked
in green lush grass. Playful sprites loving life until the deluge of death ash. At first, it was unnoticed. Clothed in dress pants of a kind friend, a sister, a brother, a muggle wife who didn't like her elf loving another. Bit by itsy bit, sabotage was laid to rest in the lush green grass for the elemental folk to trip over. Single words whispered to breathe discontent around their clover. One elf could smell it, and signaled out a warning, but the other was aloof... until the ash had settled all snug and smiles under their earthen roof. Bit by itsy bit, friendly-tailored rot crept into their lot to spoil the spritely two. What were two little elves to do? They clasped each other's hands, retrieved some water and rags, and dusted off their brooms. They flitted about from room to room gathered up the fake, smiling, friendly-fire masks and tossed every one of them out on their ass.
0 Comments
It was not in the quiet moments
that alone-ness snuck in on webbed feet creeping to swallow her whole. Oh no. It was in between boisterous bouts of crowded laughter, leg-slappin' and shared memories that never included her. That was when her solitary existence grew three-fold. She often felt old, withered and wasted when stories were served around her...just out of reach. If they only knew how much she had to offer. How much love was carried in her coffers. If they gave a minute to get to know her, maybe they'd see her wings. Maybe they'd hear the friendship of acceptance when she sings. But, her measly chips don't compare to the comfort of a shared history. And opening doors to an unknown future is far too scary. So, she just listens to the echoes of their laughter as they scatter down the hallway. |
AuthorMolly Roland is a writer by nature, and she enjoys stepping over the invisible lines society loves to draw. Categories |