Dec 27

Dec 27 Flash Fiction: The mist

She couldn’t care less about wearing socks that matched her clothes.
She couldn’t care less about wearing clothes at all.
About wearing her mom sweater so as to look like a civilised woman,
about tightening her brother’s trousers around the small waist
she inherited from her grandmother.

She couldn’t care less.

But then, the mist in front of her eyes.

The lingering tears of those hills she used to explore, laughing in the midst of a goodbye kiss,
the sweat of those fields that taught her what green really looks like.

That, she cared about.

That, she felt part of.

To view more of Aruna’s work, visit her website.