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I fell asleep earlier than usual Thursday and slept as the weekly Micro Bookends contest deadline sailed by. However, I love the concept too much to not have put a “response” on my blog, even if it doesn’t count to the contest itself. As usual, you have 110 words to work with; they provide the above picture and the first (explosive) and last (disorder) words, respectively. 

Explosive thoughts tore Maggie’s mind asunder; the thoughts of which pushed at the seams of her status quo.

Thoughts like, “Why am I doing his thesis paper and then cleaning shit stains off his underwear?”

She felt untapped, like a vintage wine bottle in a dusty cellar. She was relegated to the chains of her time, chains which left a reminding rash of her social status.

Thoughts like, “Why am I trying to have his baby when I could be having the world?”

She let the thoughts spool down around her ankles, dissipating into some unseen drain.

Maggie returned to cleaning. Society had no patience for her kind of disorder.

4 thoughts on “Shackled

  1. Brilliant piece here. Got me transfixed for a brief moment and on a reflective mental transport then the ‘resume’ button is pressed and things return to (ab)normal.

    The title’s apt too.

    Good job. I should come here more.

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