Leading Lady

She could feel the load lifting. This year had been, in many ways, a challenging one. Freedom was within reach and yet...

She sat and thought. It was still dark outside and the kitchen was quiet. Only the ticking of the clock and the creak of the house, as warmth suffused its bones, were keeping her company. It wasn't always like this but holidays brought these moments of early solitude where teenagers can sleep without alarm and husbands can rest instead of rushing out into cold air for early trains.

Usually, she was up against it: lunches to pack, people to jostle, the bustle of the day presenting itself in all its given forms. Usually, she would be writing in this environment, wanting to send her creation out into the world before she left for work or before the other demands of the day stood sentinel before her with their reproachful looks: "Why are you writing when there are chores to be done?"

Why indeed.

But she knew why. Because she was a storyteller and because these tales needed to be expelled from her and made manifest in whatever form she chose to mould them: characters, situations, feelings, from the bewildered to the fantastical to the murderous. It was what she was made of and this challenge had made her realise that more than anything.

"Make believe" had made her believe.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. The sound of time passing. And time was passing for her and never had she been so conscious of its presence as this year. She was becoming the older generation, her feet on the line of passing from the realm of firm and ripe onto the husk-filled plains of wrinkly and dried up and yet, her mind felt as spry as it ever did.

And with her writing, she had reached a point. The challenge was almost complete - just one more day left and then? What?

Restraints would be off. She could extend into other things, things that were waiting patiently in the wings, ready for their chance to shine in the spotlight of her attention.

But she knew, heart and soul, that writing would always be her leading lady.

***

366 words

Not so much a story from me today as a reflective piece in the guise of something fictional. This challenge has been such a big part of my life this year - it was bound to be and I can barely believe that I made it. But I have...almost. One final hurdle and then, BOOM!

This has been an awakening of sorts. It has made me realise of what I am capable. I can stick at something and succeed. I can be determined. Storytelling is my thing but it is time to apply that level of commitment to other things, other challenges.

I'm not going to be writing a microfiction every day but I will be writing. But there will be other stuff too that can share the stage. But writing will always be my Greta Garbo.