Microdosing - 90mg of a Nest
Prompt: Nest
Our prompt for today is NEST!
Write a story in 90 words!
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To join in on the challenge, leave a comment or restack the story with our own!
The boxes ere packed—twenty years of life stuffed into a dozen cardboard cubes.
The goodbyes were said. The promises were laid. "We will visit often." "ou can fly over anytime." "Christmas is just around the corner."
Hannah nodded to all of them with a smile.
When the movers left she strolled around the house, avoiding the empty rooms, scaping the memories, holding back the tears.
The last little bird left her nest and she knew that despite all of the promises, she will only see them a handful of times before the end comes.
It was always me and Mother. She'd told me about my "no good father," but I never met him. Sometimes I dreamed about a baby brother, but Mother said there was only me.
Decades passed. When Mother passed, I inherited a beautiful, intricately carved wooden box, etched with the words, "I love you." Curious, I opened the lid, only to find another box marked, "I couldn't cope alone."
I found the last box nesting within, stating "Please forgive me." Peering into the tiny box, I finally met my poor baby brother.
A segment of my Substack post today:
I've seen her in alleyways,
a firebrand among shadows,
behind dumpsters where the forgotten
build their paper castles,
sharing cigarettes with the displaced,
nesting like crows in concrete corners,
planning revolutions in the dark.
She's no angel with gossamer wings—
more like a street fighter
with grit beneath her fingernails,
who's lost every tooth but her wisdom,
who knows the difference between
bending and breaking.