Challenge
Challenge of the Month I
The waning heat of summer. Pastel oranges and reds. The season of harvest. Darkening skies as the spectre of winter looms. Write the first chapter of a story beginning in autumn. Fiction or non-fiction, poetry or Prose. $100 purse to our favorite entry. Outstanding entries will be shared with our publishing partners.
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November child born on the 8th
The skies were dark, there was a fog outside. I shouldn't have been born that day. But I was. Upon birth I didn't cry. It was expected for newborn children to cry, but no matter what the doctor did, I just couldn't cry.
Fast forward a few years and I cried. It was when my mother died, but only because now I could tell what was expected of me. I wasn't sad, I know I was supposed to be, but I wasn't. I mourn her every 8th of every month, but only because of guilt.
I didn't kill her, but I was guilty of not making her life easier and not being able to remember how she looks, without a photograph.