Jennifer Gullickson
Stories (2)
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The Inspiration
Hearing the whistles of the birds, I slowly wake. I whisper, 'Good morning, beautiful', to the day that I'm grateful to be living. Staring at the cracked ceiling of my shape-shifted wickiup - the Apache version of the wigwam - out here in the middle of the Southwest United States, my eyes continuously wander for the answers of what I will do when they find my little piece of heaven. I've been waiting for a while now, praying for them to not find my sacred space. The year is 2060, and although it's only been a decade since the people had a major meltdown, I've never been happier. My family managed to escape to the peaceful mountain-side, finding seeds along the way. I hold tight my heart-shaped locket my daughter gave me when she was five.
By Jennifer Gullickson5 years ago in Fiction
