Just a reminder. Freewriting is when you just write. There is no set way to do it. This DOES NOT mean that my writing is free to be taken by others. I want to make that clear. Oh, what a tangled web we weave That was a Shakespeare tragedy Now it is your reality. All of the lies and cover ups Have buried you Gone are the comforts you had grown accustomed to Why did you push that boundary? Why did you cross that line? Did you really think "I can get by with it this time?" What happened to you? What kind of sick, twisted fantasy did you have? So many questions left hanging in the air. Do you even know yourself? Maybe you stopped caring, Maybe you felt alone. I hope that cheap thrill was worth it because now you are caught. You can't run away. You can't escape the stares. Worst of all, you can't escape yourself. I know you are probably replaying every scene, Wishing and hoping it's all a bad dream. Sadly, t
I watched as Granny hung each garment on the clothesline. The sun was shining so bright I had to squint my eyes. Papa's old flannel shirts flapped in the breeze beside Granny's flowered house coats. There was something magical about that clothesline to me. I was intrigued by the simpleness of it. No whirring of the dryer. The clothes became drier as the day wore on. The next day, Granny would take her brown clothes basket to gather the clothes. One by one, she slipped the clothes pins off. It was almost as if she had her own rhythm. I stopped at the sliding glass door, lost in my own thoughts. That old clothesline had been in the backyard for years. The rough hewn posts were sturdy and solid. They told their own story, marked by the pelting rain and other elements. I hurried inside as Granny came in. I grabbed a shirt and pressed it to my face. The smell of freshly cleaned clothes was intoxicating. Now, most of us use washing machines. I still remember that clothesline and am
Since I talked about my community and some things that make me and my readers unique yesterday, I thought I would branch out and do one of the bonus prompts, which says to tell what my life is like to someone looking on the outside then describe it from the inside. On the outside, I look like a stylish young woman busy attending college classes and helping out at my church all while in a wheelchair. Some people have mistakenly thought I have an easy life because I have people helping me do things, get a little extra time to do tasks, and so on. From the inside, they would see a slightly different picture. My hair looks so good because my mom helps me dry it and style it. I have a beside commode because I'm not quite strong enough --yet-- to walk to the bathroom and sit down without help. They would also see I have to get up about thirty minutes to an hour before I have somewhere to be in order to get ready because it takes me a little longer to do things. They wo
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