Quinona-Nox
"No, no, no, no, NO, please, let me through, let him through, he's only seven..."
He shook his head sternly. He'd seen this type before, begging, whimpering, snivelling. 'Let the baby through', they said. Just another mouth to feed and the government's job to feed it.
DENIED in red.
She hadn't ever really been prepared for the swelling in her bosoms and the rounding of her stomach. The tailored suits to impress the executives didn't fit anymore, and they don't make slacks with elastic waists.
Yet when it kicked inside her, she was willing to leave it all behind.
The crib of humanity, one could say, was Africa. As a species we walked, crawled, and stood upright first in the steaming desert sun.
But I think the true crib of humanity is when we learned to love, hate, and cry.
we stared into the sun.
we left the cave, blinking at the ruthless lights, free of our captivity and naked in our bodies and souls.
the landscape of the world and our minds was barren, we walked as children, the light and sound and fervor causing us to squint into the dawn.
How do we measure ourselves?
Are we measured by tall or short? What is tall or short though -- our physical height, sure, perhaps. But the height of our character, the shortness of our tempers, the length of our patience, and how small we feel when alone with ourselves.
Which of these is the measure we value the most?
writing since 2013 · 7 entries · 6 days shown up
each square is a day—lit means Alana showed up.
3longest streak
6days written
0.2entries / week
the words Alana reaches for
ourselvesmeasureequalmeasuresselfotherstallheightsunwalkedcribhumanityfeedwoodmonopolylied