Quart et alia

She had always said that she would never be that woman. The one who woke up and wished she was blissfully asleep again because it had dawned on her, yet again, that her life was totally shit. She lived with a nagging in the pit of her stomach that a solution was just out of reach for her mind.

Her mother had always said to her ‘…you can’t get a quart into a pint pot..’ What Emma had eventually realised was that her mother was actually trying to tell her ‘…don’t be too big for your boots, missy.’ What hope is there, she thought, if even your own mother can’t dream big for you.

If only she had the confidence to stretch out and make a grab for something. Anything. But as she thought about taking some definitive action,  the branch would begin to look flimsy and she felt at such a height, that she could feel her vertigo coming on, and she would surely fall tumbling to the ground. Failing again. She forced down the nagging, eventually digesting it. It’s okay. Carry on, as you are, for today. Survive. That’s all you have to achieve for today. What difference can one more day of misery make?

Faces 6
‘Keep smiling, no one can see the truss.’

This is written as an assignment for the Start Writing Fiction Course, on Future Learn.


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