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Written for Munson’s Micro-fiction Challenge

By Kayleigh Fraser ✨Published 18 days ago Updated 18 days ago 3 min read
Photo by Matthew Jungling on Unsplash

I wiped my hands on the fabric of my dress. The shiny, man made fibres were doing very little to absorb the river of sweat pouring from them. The white paper I held was growing increasingly damp and floppy. Why hadn’t I thought to print this on card?

My head was buzzing with nervous energy as I stood stage right waiting for the presenter to finish his opening speech. I couldn’t hear his words anymore. Only vibrations of his deep tone and the muffled sound of the audience murmuring reached my ears.

I took a deep breath but it did little to calm the fire in my nervous system. My eyes scanned frantically for a chair. I needed to sit down before I collapsed. Now. My head felt fuzzy and my body faint. I couldn’t do this. This was a stupid idea. Why had I agreed to this?

Hands were now on me and a face was in front of mine, nodding. What was she saying? I looked into the eyes of kindness and warmth and I felt myself returning to my body. “Chris, you’re going to be great, really! Don’t worry! You’ve got this. We are behind you”.

“Thank you. I’m so nervous. I really think I made a mistake when I agreed to do this. Maybe I shouldn’t…” My shaking voice was interrupted as the presenter spoke my name and beckoned me onto the stage. There was no escaping this now. I had to go.

The PR assistant was guiding me forwards. The audience were clapping loudly as I walked to the centre of the stage. Their applause stopped as suddenly as it had begun. I couldn’t look at them. I was smiling but I wasn’t inside me. I felt like an observer.

The presenter exited the stage and the audience were pin drop silent. Every eye in the auditorium and off stage was on me. I could feel their distaste and hate burning my skin. My legs were shaking. I gripped the podium tightly and thanked God for it being there.

My tears need a minute to find the edges of my face. If you'll please excuse me.

They fall without permission in desperation to be free.

They have been violently trapped inside of my heart. Yearning for release. Aching to depart.

Eight lengthy seasons of bitter salt swells have rusted my platinum wedding band.

Eroding our vows of unfulfilled dreams as they prised you from my hands.

One fateful accident stole your life and left me here alone,

Trapped in this eternal winter, replaying your voice messages on my phone.

I paused as the noise of the audience grew unbearably loud. There was shouting. Paper cups and burning coffee were being thrown to the stage. I looked down and watched as the sticky, hot liquid slowly seeped into the small cracks on wooden floor.

The auditorium doors were slamming as the people stormed out. Mobs of them. My vision was blurring and I couldn’t make anything out clearly. I didn’t want to. The energy in the room was overwhelming enough. I could feel the uncertainty from those still seated.

Unsure whether to stay or go. Unsure whether we were safe. Texan men had a foul reputation for their unhinged violence and aggression. Especially when faced with someone like me. Did they never think to question why I triggered them into such deep fear?

I decided to continue. I had stepped onto this stage to share my story, my grief. Just as everyone else at this convention has done. Only, everyone else was supported. Applauded by the audience. Consoled after. But it seems their empathy is only for their ‘kind’. It doesn’t extend to me.

No signs of you exist now. You don’t visit me as I sleep

You never come to say goodbye, each night as I pray and weep.

Cruel is exactly how it seems. For God to kill our many dreams.

So if you'll please excuse me. My tears may need another minute to find the edges of my face.

Because right now I feel choked with anger, with no hint of love or grace.

I want to forgive you, God, for taking him from me.

I pray to see the lesson, and to believe in the divine purpose of thee

But how can I do that whilst drowning in despair. Nursing a heart that holds no hope of repair.

Burning, grieving, despairing. Tormented by nightmare memories.

His blood still stains my hands. And screams are ringing in my ear.

How can I forgive a God, who let my husband die in fear.


Written for Christy Munson’s Challenge linked below 👇


MicrofictionShort Story

About the Creator

Kayleigh Fraser ✨

philosopher, alchemist, writer & poet with a spirit of fire & passion for all things health & love related 💫

“When life gives you lemons,

Know you are asking for them.

If you want oranges, focus on oranges”


INSTAGRAM - kayzfraser

Reader insights


Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!

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  1. Compelling and original writing

    Creative use of language & vocab

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    Well-structured & engaging content

  3. Excellent storytelling

    Original narrative & well developed characters

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Comments (5)

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  • Kenny Penn16 days ago

    Omg Kayleigh, this is a powerful story. Makes me want to reach through the page and wring some necks.

  • ugh...the hate burned the page. So well written, so sadly accurate

  • Intriguing! The title certainly has a double meaning in the context of the story. A good entry for Christy's challenge, and maybe consider it for the 3am challenge as well -- has a dream-like quality to it.

  • Christy Munson18 days ago

    Out of objectivity I'll say, at this time, that I very much appreciate your microfiction and I'm proud to have it as an entry in my unofficial challenge.

  • Omgggg, why would they even do that to him? He's not their kind? How so? I loved the poem that he recited. It was so poignant and emotional! Loved your take on this challenge!

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