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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!