Short pieces of fiction created as part of 10-minute writing exercises. These pieces appear here exactly as written (except that spelling and punctuation have been corrected) in the ten minutes given for the exercise.
Writing prompt: there are three things she told me never to do
There are three things she told me never to do…and I’ve done them all.
Never go to bed angry—hard to avoid if your partner is MIA. Waiting for him to come home, waiting for him to call…eventually fatigue takes over and you fall asleep.
Never speak ill of your partner outside of the marriage. “You’re a unit,” she said. But this June Cleaver code of silence condemns you to isolation, freezes you in a cocoon of doubt and loneliness. To break free you have to speak, and speak truth.
And the third thing? I don’t even remember. Like so much of a mother’s advice, it has been washed away by time. And now she is gone. And I think whatever it is she said is important.
As I sit here, alone, I wish with all my heart that she was here. I wish for all the advice she might wish to impart, all the armor a mother’s love can provide, all the sagacity a woman’s experience can imbue as I face the long dark of a solitary night.