THE BLOOD TRAVELS
5) As an only child she spent lots of time alone. She could easily entertain herself with a hairbrush and a length of string. She either received every ounce of attention or was left totally alone. Not in a bad way mind you. Just in the way it was. A childhood never is, it always was. In the early days, youth. Life is lived. In the later days, when one is older you remember it. Then it is untangled or sometimes forgotten. Some are left with scars, some with open wounds that never heal. Depends on the person you've become or will be. In her case she was well adjusted and everything changed. Well slightly, she was now a woman. It didn't happen overnight but the again the world spins
round and round. Day night, day night, again and again. She found solace in brushing her hair again and again as she sat in the window of the house that was now hers. It was the ones her parents had left her when they moved to a more hospitable climate. Long firm strokes, one at a time. She looked out the window off to the mountains beyond the blue line of the sky. Her soft brown hair shown so bright as if she had been polishing it rather than brushing it. Every tug every pull brought her one moment closer to the end. One that would never come making every unanswered tug a new beginning. So she put away her
brush in the drawer of the nightstand and went to bed. Looking out the window she would fall asleep. Looking out the window she would awake. As always she took her lone place in the window and began to brush. Waiting for nothing but the wait. One would hardly guess she was in fact fulfilled and completely entertained.
5) As an only child she spent lots of time alone. She could easily entertain herself with a hairbrush and a length of string. She either received every ounce of attention or was left totally alone. Not in a bad way mind you. Just in the way it was. A childhood never is, it always was. In the early days, youth. Life is lived. In the later days, when one is older you remember it. Then it is untangled or sometimes forgotten. Some are left with scars, some with open wounds that never heal. Depends on the person you've become or will be. In her case she was well adjusted and everything changed. Well slightly, she was now a woman. It didn't happen overnight but the again the world spins
round and round. Day night, day night, again and again. She found solace in brushing her hair again and again as she sat in the window of the house that was now hers. It was the ones her parents had left her when they moved to a more hospitable climate. Long firm strokes, one at a time. She looked out the window off to the mountains beyond the blue line of the sky. Her soft brown hair shown so bright as if she had been polishing it rather than brushing it. Every tug every pull brought her one moment closer to the end. One that would never come making every unanswered tug a new beginning. So she put away her
brush in the drawer of the nightstand and went to bed. Looking out the window she would fall asleep. Looking out the window she would awake. As always she took her lone place in the window and began to brush. Waiting for nothing but the wait. One would hardly guess she was in fact fulfilled and completely entertained.