She likes to keep her heart where she can see it. Shards scattered in her room: pieces in a puzzle.
She hides one in every satin slipper that rests on her shelve. Another in the red music box with its dancing ballerina.
One’s in the letter, on the desk, that says she’ll go to Juilliard.
The final shard is in the peach dress she’ll wear to prom.
The forecast is grim.
In her womb, cells are gathering—a storm shaping a tiny heart. Its beat is hushed thunder. But she’s deaf to whispers in the whirlwind, which sweep her shards away.
Great imagery!
Awesome! How strange… there isn’t any reference to the baby’s father, (unless the letter is a love letter and not an acceptance one, as I see it), so that means she didn’t offer him a «shard». Great story, packed in so little. As Bobby Warner said already, great imagery!
This is a beautifully written piece. However, I would have taken out the line:
“The forecast is grim”. It’s best to leave the story somewhat open-ended.
Beautiful work, Sophie. Poetic and still for the most part, until ‘The forecast was grim.’ Which I liked as a turning point with conflict, a bit of personality. Great imagery.
Gavin,
It’s always better to show and not tell……..
I liked it and I sorta felt her pain. Beautiful expression…
very tasteful and poetic