so confining
fiction
edward w pritchard
It wasn't a closet or an attic that the baby and the sixteen year old Mother were kept in, just a second floor bedroom. A Father, but not a husband, gone, by convention they were hid away. Not that long really by deep time- only-seven years. Stay in all day and then at night they could move about, maybe outside, we are not sure of that. Not really brutal or cruel but so confining. No-one's fault really.
The rest of us, the descendants, affected or effected now and then, maybe here and there, depending on that elusive brain chemistry or caused by something or other, explanation depending on one's philosophy of such matters. Evidenced by a little paranoia or anxiety, communicated by watch out for the neighbors or just be normal. Some of us repeated the warnings to offspring and others, hopefully some forgot or didn't pass it on.
No one's fault really just so confining.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment