Don't Be Late.
Based on a true story...about two weeks or so ago.
What time is it? 8:37 . Okay, walk, walk walk. Why is everything either stairs or a slope? Fuck meeeeee...
Okay, okay. Time? 8:39 Okay, okay. We are doing good for time - mind the curb.
Walk, walk, walkkkkkkkk.
Look both ways... Okay, clear! Walking, walking, we're walkinggggggggggggggggg. Quicklyyyyy...
Shit! Grab the street sign! Grab the street sign!
Ouch fuck! Am I bleeding? No, okay. You have Cerebral Palsy remember? Fuck sake. Fucking fence. My back! Fuck... my eyebrow? Fuck it. Keep going.
Careful, careful. Ouch fuck. Okay okay, what time is it now? 8:45...
I'm fucking late. Ahhhh...Fuck!
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And that my lovelies is my internal monologue. I am a mess. My eyebrow still hurts.
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About the Creator
Rosie J. Sargent
Hello, my lovelies! Welcome, I write everything from the very strange to the wonderful; daring and most certainly different. I am an avid coffee drinker and truth advocate.
Follow me on Twitter/X @rosiejsargent97
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More stories from Rosie J. Sargent and writers in Fiction and other communities.
The Lost Gardens of Stourhead
ACT I Lottie was strolling the gardens of Stourhead. Social gatherings were something Lottie would actively avoid every time one would occur. She hated how her family, aunts, cousins, and uncles, would cramp into dark overcrowded rooms stuffed to the brim with terrible friends and horrible quiches. Rooms full of people she hardly knew, old faces she hardly recognised. Yet, was expected to talk to them as if they had been in her life every single day since her birth when of course, they hadn’t been. She knew they didn’t care what she said, what she did or what she looked like they were going to judge her regardless. She knew these gatherings were for bragging and not catching up. A competition for the most attention. She had wondered if they had realised she was absent and then concluded they probably hadn't noticed. They were all too busy talking about themselves. She, on the other hand, was a ghost of the living. Misguided and alone with a lot of unfinished business; victories to be won, and lessons to be learned in defeat.
By Rosie J. Sargentabout a year ago in Fiction
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