Full house

Writing 101: Day 5.

Today we are asked to select a tweet and write a post inspired by it. I have chosen:


Once, she was small and innocently alone. As she grew, they moved in, singly, at intervals, wafting the intimate fragrance of their existance. They never aged. Many years passed before she noticed them.

She asked no questions. There was just the freshness of each budding experience. She absorbed, but didn’t recognise the changes. On wild days she inhaled sunshine, ate up the wide grassy tracks with her feet; her eye on today’s exciting target, tomorrow invisible, the previous day less than a memory. Thrilled with her athletic skills, she sometimes felt as if she could fly.

In school, other children milled in distant circles. Bewildered by their otherness, she stared at the sky and dreamed herself different. With her first unseen shadow behind her, she smiled and pictured a future.

Now ageing, she sits by a west-facing window and watches the sun set. Thinly veiled women and children jostle, banging into her, craving rebirth. Each has her little circle of familiars.

She feels pulled in different directions. Briefly she embraces a three year old tot who is making a cake, beating it with a little battery-run mixer. She murmers soothing words to a young woman with a black eye, who limps towards her, needing to be heard. She speaks fondly to a mother with similar features, who cradles a baby.

She tries to ignore the woman with the friendly face who is timidly waving from the corner, concealing her secret misery while she patiently listens to a teenager’s anxst.

Turning back to the window, she spies the boy, leaning against a tree, staring directly into her eyes. He is always there, imploring to be let in, and she finally realises that he is not a boy after all, just a girl who wants to be free.

She is tired. She needs to put her past to bed.

©Jane Paterson Basil


18 thoughts on “Full house

    1. Thank you Prince. I’m sorry I didn’t respond to your last comment. I was snowed under with work, and I wanted to consider my reply.
      I would love us to connect, but
      am I right in thinking your faith defines you? I enjoy interaction with people of any virtuous faith, and of none – as long as they are respectful of religion – which they rarely are.
      I’ll be open about my beliefs. For a long time I have believed that we are a collective consciousness, and our thoughts shape the future of ourselves and this planet. I recently learned that a beehive is an organism, rather than a home for individual bees. In other words, they work together because they are one, in the way that I once believed myself to be one. Ants are similar, and I suspect we are, too – the only difference being, that through greed and arrogance we’ve made a mess of it.
      In light of my eccentric theory, would you wish to network with me?

      Liked by 2 people

    1. Thsnk you Calen, but if I had to choose one post to deelete, I think it would be this one although there’s a 20 word story in here somewhere that didn’t quite work. I couldn’t have written it well, because it was mis-interpreted. It was about self-love. Readers thought it was about a faithless lover. I should re-hash it.
      I don’t know what it is about “Garret” that makes me so uncomfortable. Maybe it’s because i mentioned urine, and the last time i wrote about urine, (“Urine on the floor”) though I thought it was the funniest thing I’d written in a long time, it went down like a lead balloon.

      Liked by 1 person

  1. I doubt it had anything to do with urine. Who knows how one poem will be received and not another one. The ones I think are stupid are the ones people usually like. But Garret, you tapped into a LOT of people’s biggest fear in that one. Maybe your own fear, too? Do you feel like someone “walked over your grave?”

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I felt you’ve lived this post, so there are so many interesting elements – not noticing at first; dreaming herself different; living in the present, compared to fending off the pasts; lots of women craving rebirth, each with a circle of familiars. I did need to read it a few times – by the end, it seemed much richer than on my first reading. You’ve made me think of an old idea differently.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. All of the characters were my past selves. Sometimes I like to stand outside myself and write in the third person. I realise I tend to be obtuse. Unfortunately it will probably never make me into a popular poet, but being told that it gave you a different angle on the subject is praise enough.
      Thank you!


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