I grew up in silence, a hindrance to my parents.
The woman would stare at me. I soon learned to disappear like the morning mists.
They didn’t want me, and yet the times that I left were countered with them hunting me down.
Irony dogs me now, its reprimand fiercer than any they could ever inflict. My heart is barren and blasted and yet here I am, in charge of this child.
I don’t know who she is. We could be the only people left alive after The Burning. The land is scorched and skeleton trees pierce the white-hot sky.
Who is she?
She is terrified. I remember such a feeling.
I allow the carapace around my heart to crack. I take her small hand in mine. I am awkward, lost in my own wilderness.
“Will you look after me?”
The words fall from my lips, not hers.
Here’s my latest entry into VisDare this week, the prompt run by the lovely Angela. The response came to me almost immediately – it’s a beautiful, heart-wrenching image. Please do pop over to her blog and read the other submissions – no two will be alike!