On a cold, winter morning, long before dawn-break, she was huddled on a park bench. Matted hair, clothes that had seen better days, filthy toe nails. Destitute, and seemingly not in possession of her mental faculties, it was obvious the streets were her home.
One would have expected her to be staring vacantly into space- watching the world through unseeing eyes. Instead, she was hunched over a book, pen in hand, writing something in a neat, if childish hand.
Literate, and interested in words- a rarity in this country. But it doesn’t seem to have done too much for her.
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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.
4 comments:
At least it keeps her mind occupied.
So sad. We take so much for granted.
Natasha - Such a sad study in contrasts! On one hand, she can write and her mind can express itself. On the other, she lives in a desperate situation. So sad...
It's always better- even when you're the poorest of the poor- to have some education than to be illiterate and unable to use your brain to any capacity. It is people who can read and write who will understand what is being done to them more keenly than those who believe mindnumbingly what they are told by the power elitist.
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