Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

Solitude: A Vignette

Soft morning light streams through the skylight. Through it, I can see a square patch of blue sky bisected by a telephone wire, upon which perch a pair of songbirds. My soul luxuriates in freedom even as my body remains in the soft confines of my bed, the down comforter wrapped around me like a warm, fluffy cloud. I am not sleeping, nor am I fully awake; I float through hazy consciousness like an autumn leaf on a gentle breeze, occasionally tugged this way or that by the currents of half-formed thoughts.

I could laze away like this all day, stretching the morning out from dawn to dusk under the covers. I could stay here in utter contentment, blissfully ignorant of anything beyond my bed and my mind and my little square of sky. To be alone, and at peace - is there anything more precious?

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