Like Yorick yesterday, I'm here but I'm questioning why. I don't have anything in particular to write about. Nothing interesting comes to mind. On top of that, I'll have to squeeze out 200 words shaped like a small story. I still don't know what that will be about and I doubt it'll be great.
Lately, I've had a really hard time writing. I feel devoid of inspiration and I question why I keep going. It is for sure not this site that encourages me to come back. It's more like the empty halls of a school that was once full of life and the feeling of potential. I could make a list of things that are broken. I have considered it many times. So far I haven't done it because I'm sure it will make no difference. Sure, it could be a good exercise for me personally but there are other things I would rather spend my time on.
Like I wrote in the comment to Yorick's post, it's very likely that I won't be writing next year. Since we're over halfway through 2021 and it would be cool to have a whole year of micro-stories, my goal is to continue my streak through the end of December.
I'd like to continue writing in 2022 but I'll have to find a format for it. I'm not sure it's here on this site.
Hopefully I'll be able to get my posts in a decent format so I can save them and take the stories and make them into a small collection.
As she walks into her apartment and shuts the door behind her, she lets out a deep sigh. Then she begins to take off the wet clothes, one piece at a time. She hangs it in the bathroom then dries her hair and wipes the floor. It’s been raining for what feels like months but at least it's just rain with barely any wind. The temperatures are actually quite pleasant. She fills the kettle and puts on a soft t-shirt, pajama pants and fluffy socks while the water is slowly brought to a boil.
She takes out the largest teacup she has and brews the richest and tastiest tea imaginable. The cup is brought to the coffee table and a weighted blanket is acquired. She curls up on the couch with her favorite book. The rain is drumming on the windows. The cat joins her and the rain and the purrs are in perfect harmony. The book swallows her up and for a couple of hours she got to feel safe and cared for, loved and belonging. The rain was rain and she didn’t care one bit. It had no power while she was in there. She was content.