The crowd sat in rows, shrouded in black; moist tissues stuffed in their pockets. My daughter’s mascara-streaked face spoke volumes. I reached for her hand, but as my grasp slipped through the air I realized that I could no longer console her. 

My orphaned child was on her own now.  



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8 thoughts on “Wake

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  1. Oh…beautifully written. I love the way you’ve set the scene and the little descriptions like ‘mascara-streaked face’. And it’s a great twist in the end re the narrator 🙂


  2. I want to title this story. How about “The Streaked Soul”? I think, in addition to anecdotes, I should start writing micro-prose. You used the punctuations very professionally which kept me connected to the scene. It can be a full story; you can write it.

    Liked by 1 person

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