Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

Worn and Weary

She sighed quietly, so quietly that no one heard. She was always careful to make sure no one heard her. It wasn't that she minded doing her job, she understood that someone had to do it. She was just tired. She'd been at her post for a long time and she wanted to be done. She didn't just want a break, she wanted it to be over. The few breaks she was given were sometimes worse than remaining on duty. The best were only a chance to get herself washed up before going back to her post. The worst ended in beatings or being tied out in the sun or rain for days at a time. Being on post was more of the same, being kicked at or stepped on was a daily occurrence.

She knew any beauty she once possessed had long faded. She felt worn, tired, and thin, like her existence was slowly wearing away the very fiber of her being. She knew she wasn't doing her job as well as she once did. Last week, when she'd tried to stop herself from being pulled from her post during a particularly bad encounter, she'd felt something tear in her; she wasn't sure how much longer she could last. Each new day she felt there was a little less of her left, but there was nothing she could do to stop it. So she sighed quietly as she was once more kicked and knocked from her place. She waited to be shoved back where she belonged, but the words she heard when she felt a hand touch her made her sigh with relief.

"Hey, Honey, I think it's time to get a new rug. This one is pretty worn out. Look, it has a hole in it."

"Yeah, I think I tore it last week when I tripped on it. We can look for one when we go shopping tomorrow."

More writing by this author

Blogs on This Site