[Every woman has a story. Every story has a colour. This is just one of them.]
[This is a work of fiction. The characters and situations are purely imaginary, and any resemblance to people living or dead is purely coincidental and unintended.]
She glances at the framed photographs lining the corridor leading to her room. Rows and rows of young girls in grey pinafores stare back at her, unblinking.
Each face, a memory– some clear, most vague. That one wanted to be a doctor, this one a pilot. Those three couldn’t wait to get married, these two were all set to rebel. That had the determination to succeed, no matter what. This one was too talented for her own good.
Engineers? Activists? Journalists? Mothers?
Journeys undertaken? Dreams shattered?
She would love to know how all her girls turned out. Or would she?
Drabble(n) - an extremely short work of fiction exactly one hundred words in length.