(100-word flash fiction)
She cannot recall when she lost her voice. As in, she would speak but no one paid any attention. The teenagers, indifferent, her husband, always on the phone.
Then, she became a ghost. In the room, but un-present, unseen, ignored. A cooking-cleaning ghost who got attention only when the food was too salty and the toilet paper ran out. Little did they know. She considered buying chillies in bulk, for the food and the toilet paper.
When her husband brought his lover home and made love to her in their bed is when she went looking for a butcher’s knife.
The scarecrow not having a mouth gave me this idea. It looks a bit ghostly too.
So many women in different cultures live without a voice, with no agency to exercise their choices. I wanted to write a more hefty story, with more punch and power to bring home their plight, but this is all the muse’s giving me at this late hour.
Many thanks once again to the lovely Rochelle, the helmstress of Friday Fictioneers.
PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook
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