Stockholm in december, frozen.
Silence eating her. Icicled she stirred her tea.
Just a week ago she’d felt selected. Unique.
Her dreams were coming true. Only the audition first.
She could act and get the part.
There had been rumors, gossip, talk of course —
but she had shrugged and called it envy.
He had been polite.
Kissed her hand, and complimented her on how she read the part
and on her looks.
Then cold and dry — his hands, the couch, his threats and lies.
She fell and hid; unplugged her phone.
She stirred her tea again.
As soon as I saw the picture I knew that I wanted to use icicle as a verb, and from that the story grew. For a man it’s of course almost impossible to understand how it feels to be raped by the sexual predators that men of power seems to be sometimes. So my apologies for any misunderstandings.
Friday Fictioneers is a community of bloggers who write 100 word fiction on the same photo each week. Rochelle leads and set the bar.
For those interested in online poetry I would like to tell you that we are soon making the dVerse anthology available for ordering from Amazon. I received the proof today and will do the final checks before sending it for printing.
December 6, 2017