Friday Flash: Eliana

 

 

 

img-20110609-00076

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Eliana was a name you couldn’t pronounce, a face you couldn’t remember. She’d glide through the crowd in the train station like smoke, bodies easing in and out of her. A boy once said her fingers felt like cotton, that it was soft enough for a place she didn’t think women were meant to venture.  She had been torn, and taped back together so many times, that recovery felt like her purpose. In between, when she wasn’t being destroyed or remade, Eliana was grateful to exist.

A tiny part of her, however, grew like a tumor – it shifted uncomfortably inside, conflicting with how restful and agreeable everything else was. It was a pocket of something fiery, something undefeatable, something only a woman could possess. She waited for her train, and spotted a man nearby. He was approaching a little girl, whispering lewd things under his breath. Eliana took a step, and after that the sunlight was in her eyes. The little girl was in her left hand, squirming around to free herself, finally breaking apart and running away. Eliana felt the bitterness submerge, dissipate into her whole body, and the tension in her arms disappeared.

Advertisements