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    She sits quietly while the world moves around her. The cool stone of the table as her hands rest on it holding her coffee,she watches the people,of all ages pushing past eachother with their shopping bags,some walking slowly,some in a rush to somewhere and her? Just sitting,not drinking the coffee that her hands are wrapped around as if it’s merely there to give her warmth.

    Her mind exhausted,weary ,she longs for the simple way life once was,without the burdens that crowd her mind now. Each one overlapping the other until all she wants to do is run from it all. Peace. The thought crosses her mind that peace comes at no cost and is the simplest of pleasures but yet is so hard to get,she smiles a small at the ridiculousness of it,but notices that those walking by seem to be busy,happy and she wonders if anyone rushing by is just as confused as she.

    She dips her coffee,bitter and lukewarm now she has no more and places it back down,still holding it as if she can still gain some warmth from it. She shouldn’t be here,she should be working,emailing family members,being the dutiful one,her life not her own but instead everyone else’s. Her mind thinks of what brought her here and suddenly she’s smiling ,cheeks flushed red ,she pushes the cold coffee away not needing the warmth it once provided and thinks about the night that brought her here. For a fleeting second she thinks of the exciting possibilities but scolds herself for doing so. No,her life is not her own ,she has duties and that is where she should focus.

    Her phone bleeps, responsibilities, a prisoner to these routines and responsibilities even here she cannot escape. She remembers him,who taught her freedom is something she could have,that it doesn’t need to be this way. And she remembers that fleeting moment when she spent one day and night finally having a life of her own. Her phone is a reminder of rows between family and work that goes no where and gives back to no one. Night and day keeping her like an invisible chain wrapped tight  until her life is no real life at all. She longs for the adventure she once dreamt of. She briefly thinks of his smile and realises that’s what it reminds her of,adventure. A soul as deep as the ocean.

    Passers-by bustle along past the waiter begining to clear a table,a look of confusion across his brow as under an unused napkin lays a phone,looking around for the owner but seeing no one,briefly stepping into the bar to see if the customer was there. Still holding the phone looking at its missed messages and calls,still looking around unsure of what to do.

    The elderly couple sitting on the bench smile back at the passer-by,Her smile still present as she walks away.


    4 members liked this post.

    I like that, Sara.

    We’ve had some interesting poetry here, but

    it’s great to read prose whihc is n’t a nasty attack or a poor satire on jc members.

    Keep it up!

    2 members liked this post.

    Thank you Sceptical,

    I wasn’t sure if it would be too much length wise.

    You are right,we certainly need less of the attacks. So much more could be here.


    2 members liked this post.

    Was that a poem or a slice of a married Jc woman’s life 😊

    1 member liked this post.

    Interesting , is that a stand alone or part of something bigger ?  Just wondered …  :good:

    1 member liked this post.


    It was meant as a stand alone , I hadn’t considered a bigger interwoven piece, interesting idea. Unsure if it would bore people though lol

    1 member liked this post.

    Well surely that depends on the context it was written in.  It didn’t pop out if thin air, there must be some kind of a back story ? Depends on whether you want to delve and develope where it sprouted from ??   :good:

    1 member liked this post.

    It’s good as a stand-alone.

    If there had been a backstory, it would have been weakened.

    I love those little stories where you have to guess what happened.

    1 member liked this post.

    Mooosy, I definitely think there is room to expand it but I think what I may do after all is do a ‘like’ story and expand it just a tad because the subtly in this was fine for me but not everyone.



    I completely agree, that was my worry, that it would fall into some big thing when all it had to be was itself. Short stories allow the person reading it to end it with their own imagination or hopes. Which means if we don’t like the ending we can change it to be happier,at least in our heads lol

    1 member liked this post.

    PML…………must be some thing bigger if you asked me………….

    When writing poetry…never ask sceppers advice…reason….it will just be you writing sceppers poetry…..PML LMAO RATF

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