Day Eleven

but day fourteens prompt…


Really I would prefer to be alone. To read my book or whip the billowing cream for my meringue. An orange on my lap asks to be peeled.

I have a sewing project I’d like to start and this letter to my sister to finish.

But no – there is a queue of heroes. All waiting to be petrified.

All that cringing and ducking fills my veins with wrath. You beg me to terrorize, to ride roughshod.

My front path is frankly; overgravelled. How much garden statuary does one woman need?

But I always was a people pleaser – if you’ve come all this way to find a monster…





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