Yay! With the publishing of this post, I have accomplished three things: I’ve gotten my blog back to it normal post-more-than-once-a-month status, I’ve restarted doing Friday Fictioneers, and I’ve reached 50 posts! (I think?) Anyway, I won’t bore you any longer with my self-celebratory dabble. After all, I have a story to tell, don’t I? (Which, might I add, is again 100 words exactly, as per usual!)
A World Of Her Own
They always said that she was in a world of her own. When they thought she wasn’t aware, they would stare at her. Then, they would whisper about how strange she was, and how they could understand why nobody wanted to be her friend, and how nobody would date her.
And it hurt. It hurt because she was fully aware. She just acted like she didn’t care, because it was easier than letting them see her cry.
Then, she would sneak into the music room and play the old piano. Then, she really did enter a world of her own.