Blanky
March 10, 2026•169 words
The sun is sluggish to rise, although it will be in anger this day.
Only those working construction and those without construct exist on the street. Huddled next to a neon church, named Hungry Jack. A place with no locks on its doors. So those who abuse substances, more terrible than what the establishment offers, call home.
While I have heard and seen many a sadness, this one is sure to take the day. At least, I hope, I can bear no other than this.
A woman, barefoot, holding a blanket. In a daze of whatever flows throw her veins. Staring at the reflections of neon, as if peering into another life.
As I walked passed, she was bathed in neon. A shadow to me. And to her former self. But in that shadow I saw a little girl holding her favorite blanket.
Is she scared? Is she looking for her parents? Are there monsters under her bed?
Sadly, I know the answer is yes.
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