Relieved

I’ve always loved stories. Grandfather read them at bedtime. Then he told his stories of the river, the barber shop, or the little elves that lived in his garden.

Words spun worlds in my head, and if I loosened the strings just enough, imagination bled into and sharpened the real world.

The elves were shy—a bit paranoid of grown-ups—but if I sat still and spoke softly, I knew they understood. I told them my secret. My knotted stomach ached so, knowing people would laugh. I wished to be a writer.

I’m older now, less concerned, writing, and relieved.


Picture is by Brian Henry Thompson (100 words)

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