Miriam sat alone in the dimly lit train station, her suitcase a battered relic of a life left behind. She had fled her hometown after the floods claimed everything she owned, the river sweeping away homes, dreams, and certainty.
As the train roared into the station, a stranger sat beside her. He was an old man with weathered hands and kind eyes. "You know," he said, "the best crops grow after a flood. The soil becomes richer."
Miriam blinked at him, unsure if he spoke of agriculture or something deeper. When the train arrived, she boarded it with a little less fear. Maybe, she thought, the old man was right. Lifeās tragedies might carry the seeds of new beginnings.
About the Creator
Robš¦
Passionate storyteller and social impact advocate, I write to inspire change and share insights on education, sustainable development, and creative innovations.
Day 4 of Quitting
If this is how sobriety feels, maybe itās better to go through life a little buzzedā¦ this, along with other hits like, I want to kill myself, I wish I was dead, and Iām going to throw myself off a bridge have been the only thoughts on rotation these past few days. I promise myself that if, in a month, I still feel like this (āthisā meaning despondent, full of rage, and simultaneously numb) I can go back to smoking. Until mid-February though? Nicotine is off the table.
By sleepy drafts6 days ago in Longevity
Comments (1)
Hey, just wanna let you know that this is more suitable to be posted in the Fiction community š