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When it rained she could get water. She had only one small container. Occasionally he would toss food scraps up over the edge of the concrete platform high above the field. She was an animal, his pet.

She would use her rag of a sock to push her feces through the fence onto the field below – rotating left and right as best as she could remember. She imagined flowers grew from the piles, watered with her urine. She’d stopped wondering if she’d ever know. Sunburn, windburn, and frostbite had marred her hope.

But for that the sun still rose.

6 comments add one below

  • avatar

    Drew Martyn about 4 years ago

    Fantastically atmospheric and brutal; and yet at the end there is always that last glimmer of hope. Great stuff Melanie :)

  • avatar

    Melanie about 4 years ago

    Thank you Dr. It is what she is now.

    Thank you Drew. But for that hope--it's an awful drug, an addiction that will take you higher than high and throw you lower than low.

  • avatar

    Melanie about 4 years ago

    Thank you L. Michelle. I hope you don't have nightmares.

  • avatar

    Chris Walker about 4 years ago

    You packed a lot of powerful writing into just 100 words - an exemplary drabble!

  • avatar

    D.M. about 4 years ago

    What is never said is always the most powerful.

  • avatar

    Melanie about 4 years ago

    Chris - thank you! That's encouraging.

    L. Michelle - I'm so glad to hear it had an impact.

    D.M. - It is indeed. I've learned in the last year of practicing these that with only 100 words, what isn't said has to carry as much weight as what is said.

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