Writing Itch

SLIDING MEMORIES SQUEEZE and buckle beneath a pressured reflection. Words are forced out, creating ridges in the story. But at what cost? We promised not to continue that one, not to think about that one. It is time to think of the other one, the shorter one – what is wrong with you?

How to write a story? It is a question that lingers, like a persistent itch on the back of her neck. No matter how far she reaches, she cannot scratch it. It remains elusive, seemingly forever untouchable.

Echoes of stories sing on the edges of her ears. Moments drizzle past, while their beauty sizzles in the distance, evaporating as quickly as mist beneath the summer sun. Flowers wither in the heat, petals curling into black claws; dried leaves crinkle as deer scavenge through the woods. Overhead, the honking of geese startles the sultry air. Faraway, the swans have headed north, where the cool winds soothe the itchy heat from the world’s throat.

Word Count: 165

Date Written: 17 August 2012

Inspired: trying to write and wanting to write


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