If I included shorter stuff in the Top 3, Shared Journey would definitely be in it. But I don’t, and my favourites are all stories I wrote for Nortina’s fabulous Moral Mondays (I suggest you check it out if you’re not already playing) :
This month is going to be a bit tricky, because it’s the summer holidays and I’m preparing an international move. I’ll try to write at least one 100-word story a week, though, otherwise the August Top Three is going to be a sad affair.
When I watch my girlfriends – one going through a nasty divorce, another dating jerk after jerk, and that’s only the last few months – I appreciate what I learnt from my old man. His teaching methods were unconventional – the cheating liar abandoned my mother, my sister and me during my formative years.
I hated him, for almost a decade. But look at me now. I’m nearing thirty and no man has left a chink in my armour. I expect the worst, I expect behaviour worthy of my father. I haven’t met anyone half as bad yet. I haven’t been disappointed again.
Nobody goes near her. She’s a desert island in a sea of commuters.
I admire her bravery. Standing in Government Square wearing that sign – if she’s not brave, she’s mad.
So it’s not I’m not sympathetic to her cause. I wouldn’t risk watching her otherwise. But while I admire her principles, the ways she behaves scares me. She follows her own mind rather than chemically induced, government-prescribed sedation. Why does she seem so unhappy and so angry?
I inspect the pill I didn’t swallow at breakfast and sigh. I hope for greater resolve at lunchtime. Or tomorrow. Or next week.