She drags her eraser back and forth across the indelible lines of me,
an exercise in futility; I cannot be eradicated,
I linger, standing my ground in agony while her effort increases, senseless rage tearing holes in the page, murdering the story to silence a character.
What I’ve created will live on long after she is cold in her grave,
forgotten and lost forever.
My words remain.
About the Creator
Harper Lewis
Intrusive rhyme bothers me, except as a weapon.
Intertextuality is my passion.
Formalist/ New Critical are my guiding theories.
My words are mine, not a robot’s.
MA English literature, CofC
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also become a paid subscriber, letting them know you appreciate their work.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.