#shortstory #women #rights #responsibility #tragedy #metoo #politics #herstory #health #violence
Please #Share! short #story about #rape #abortion #political insanity
https://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/t2681
#fiction
not fallen
#herstory
#shortstory #women #rights #responsibility #tragedy #metoo #politics #herstory #health #violence
Please #Share! short #story about #rape #abortion #political insanity
https://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/t2681
#fiction
not fallen
#shortstory #women #rights #responsibility #tragedy #metoo #politics #herstory #health #violence
https://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/t2681
#fiction
any suggestions for places to post where this will be seen?
and, Please #Share!
#shortstory #women #rights #responsibility #tragedy #metoo #politics #herstory #health #violence
Please #Share! short #story about #rape #abortion #political insanity which I am trying to get seen
could you offer suggestions as to where/who/how to further this effort.
https://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/t2681
#fiction
not fallen
Pushing, always about pushing.
Pushing his weight off me too late,
exhausted, spent, his rage into me,
breaking, bruising, pain and shame
and devastation.
Him, a sudden force, pushing me into that
alley, so near my home I had no thought
of danger. So routine, my walk from the
subway after my work day, even though, late
Fall, well past twilight. I expected just another
evening of my uneventful life since I came to
this city to pursue my career.
I didn’t know the attacker who pushed me
from behind, covered my face with a huge,
hard hand so I wouldn’t scream, or see him,
too close to count on darkness. After,
released to drag myself home, I drank
sloppy mugs of red wine and cried, on my
way to blessed unconsciousness.
The morning alarm brought me back, to
understand my desperate need for
normalcy to push this whole melodramatic
mess out, out, out! Keep moving, one foot
at a time, eyes forward, focused on each
next chore. Somehow my face, my body,
lied for me, kept to my habitual script.
I very much didn’t want to talk about it,
to seek comforting or support. I wanted it
to go away — to never be.
I found a new route home, discovered
along it that I had become hypervigilant
while walking alone through city streets.
This city of strangers that I had hoped
would be my home had become a hostile
place to push away in self defense.
Pushed into an unwanted future where
the test comes up “Pregnant” after those
ugly symptoms could no longer be ignored.
Pushed now to find a way to take care
of my needs, to confront politics, that
whole divisive headache I had believed
not part of my life.
Suddenly I’ve become a victim of
multiple powerful men — the power
of physical force and the power of
unjust law pushed through by cynical,
deceitful misogynists using pumped
up hate to get ahead.
Much as I desperately try to normalize
these agonizing days, weeks, this
nightmare escalates. Those nonignorable
symptoms keep getting more and worse.
Pushed to accept, take in, this unacceptable
situation because these symptoms
seem serious. I have heard of high risk
pregnancies that require constant
monitoring, even sometimes termination
to save the vessel for future use. Surely I
would not be forced to continue having
this thing growing in me if it would kill me.
Barely holding my multiply suffering
body and mind together, I push myself
to take control and get to the closest ER.
Look! I yell into me, trying to center,
to find refuge in rationality. I am a
normal person, leading a narrow,
normal life. These health crisis
professionals will know what to do,
will make everything alright!
I have made it to what I have built up
in my anxious imagination as the blessed
temple of healing. Unfortunately, it is
more like Purgatory — the endless
waiting. I do understand the many more
needy of immediate care. I submerge
my fear and pain in silent singing, measured
breathing, hearing again my father’s wrath
when he had been drinking or sometimes
when he hadn’t but was feeling bitter honestly.
Family, memories, never consoling.
Certainly no one I can call for help or advice
or anything but judgement of an unkind kin.
I had been so happy to get so far away, to
reframe my life to be mine, hopeful with possibilities.
Yes, possibilities unanticipated. So many
sick days out, fallen (failing) performance,
there goes my once so bright, golden
promising job and its perks, like health insurance.
Pushed to realize my life is meaningless
beyond my private sphere. Pushed to understand
that my fragile forming friendships here are
far from strong enough to be burdened with
what has become my Truth.
At long last it is my turn to be seen. I have
become so weak, barely aware of being
lifted onto a gurney, hooked up to a fetal
monitor and IV, prodded, needle poked to
take my blood. The hands and voices are
concerned that the baby is in distress.
“Take it out of me!” I scream, crying snot
and tears and fear and rage. They inject a
fluid to induce labor, ready me to push
at their command.
Finally! It’s out, my nemesis expelled,
pushed from its unwelcome lodging.
I feel only pure exhaustion, running blood.
Fading, I hear from above:
“Yay! We saved the baby.”
Apparently too far gone for further
ministration, I am left with
the agony of life falling out of me. Faintly,
plaintively, I hear a sober retort:
“Yes, we saved this child to live, while it
does, with severe health issues requiring
extensive expensive care. It enters this
tragic life alone, parentless. Who will take
on this responsibility?
Letting the mother choose, to have the
chance to live, maybe have future healthy
children, would have been responsible, and humane.”
any suggestions for places to post where this will be seen?
and, Please #Share! [and don't forget to #vote]
#fiction
#shortstory #women #rights #responsibility #tragedy #metoo #politics #herstory #health #violence
not fallen
https://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/t2681
Pushing, always about pushing.
Pushing his weight off me too late,
exhausted, spent, his rage into me,
breaking, bruising, pain and shame
and devastation.
Him, a sudden force, pushing me into that
alley, so near my home I had no thought
of danger. So routine, my walk from the
subway after my work day, even though, late
Fall, well past twilight. I expected just another
evening of my uneventful life since I came to
this city to pursue my career.
I didn’t know the attacker who pushed me
from behind, covered my face with a huge,
hard hand so I wouldn’t scream, or see him,
too close to count on darkness. After,
released to drag myself home, I drank
sloppy mugs of red wine and cried, on my
way to blessed unconsciousness.
The morning alarm brought me back, to
understand my desperate need for
normalcy to push this whole melodramatic
mess out, out, out! Keep moving, one foot
at a time, eyes forward, focused on each
next chore. Somehow my face, my body,
lied for me, kept to my habitual script.
I very much didn’t want to talk about it,
to seek comforting or support. I wanted it
to go away — to never be.
I found a new route home, discovered
along it that I had become hypervigilant
while walking alone through city streets.
This city of strangers that I had hoped
would be my home had become a hostile
place to push away in self defense.
Pushed into an unwanted future where
the test comes up “Pregnant” after those
ugly symptoms could no longer be ignored.
Pushed now to find a way to take care
of my needs, to confront politics, that
whole divisive headache I had believed
not part of my life.
Suddenly I’ve become a victim of
multiple powerful men — the power
of physical force and the power of
unjust law pushed through by cynical,
deceitful misogynists using pumped
up hate to get ahead.
Much as I desperately try to normalize
these agonizing days, weeks, this
nightmare escalates. Those nonignorable
symptoms keep getting more and worse.
Pushed to accept, take in, this unacceptable
situation because these symptoms
seem serious. I have heard of high risk
pregnancies that require constant
monitoring, even sometimes termination
to save the vessel for future use. Surely I
would not be forced to continue having
this thing growing in me if it would kill me.
Barely holding my multiply suffering
body and mind together, I push myself
to take control and get to the closest ER.
Look! I yell into me, trying to center,
to find refuge in rationality. I am a
normal person, leading a narrow,
normal life. These health crisis
professionals will know what to do,
will make everything alright!
I have made it to what I have built up
in my anxious imagination as the blessed
temple of healing. Unfortunately, it is
more like Purgatory — the endless
waiting. I do understand the many more
needy of immediate care. I submerge
my fear and pain in silent singing, measured
breathing, hearing again my father’s wrath
when he had been drinking or sometimes
when he hadn’t but was feeling bitter honestly.
Family, memories, never consoling.
Certainly no one I can call for help or advice
or anything but judgement of an unkind kin.
I had been so happy to get so far away, to
reframe my life to be mine, hopeful with possibilities.
Yes, possibilities unanticipated. So many
sick days out, fallen (failing) performance,
there goes my once so bright, golden
promising job and its perks, like health insurance.
Pushed to realize my life is meaningless
beyond my private sphere. Pushed to understand
that my fragile forming friendships here are
far from strong enough to be burdened with
what has become my Truth.
At long last it is my turn to be seen. I have
become so weak, barely aware of being
lifted onto a gurney, hooked up to a fetal
monitor and IV, prodded, needle poked to
take my blood. The hands and voices are
concerned that the baby is in distress.
“Take it out of me!” I scream, crying snot
and tears and fear and rage. They inject a
fluid to induce labor, ready me to push
at their command.
Finally! It’s out, my nemesis expelled,
pushed from its unwelcome lodging.
I feel only pure exhaustion, running blood.
Fading, I hear from above:
“Yay! We saved the baby.”
Apparently too far gone for further
ministration, I am left with
the agony of life falling out of me. Faintly,
plaintively, I hear a sober retort:
“Yes, we saved this child to live, while it
does, with severe health issues requiring
extensive expensive care. It enters this
tragic life alone, parentless. Who will take
on this responsibility?
Letting the mother choose, to have the
chance to live, maybe have future healthy
children, would have been responsible, and humane.”
any suggestions for places to post where this will be seen?
and, Please #Share!
not fallen
https://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/t2681
https://yprophecies.wordpress.com/2023/09/03/not-fallen/
Pushing, always about pushing.
Pushing his weight off me too late,
exhausted, spent, his rage into me,
breaking, bruising, pain and shame
and devastation.
Him, a sudden force, pushing me into that
alley, so near my home I had no thought
of danger. So routine, my walk from the
subway after my work day, even though, late
Fall, well past twilight. I expected just another
evening of my uneventful life since I came to
this city to pursue my career.
I didn’t know the attacker who pushed me
from behind, covered my face with a huge,
hard hand so I wouldn’t scream, or see him,
too close to count on darkness. After,
released to drag myself home, I drank
sloppy mugs of red wine and cried, on my
way to blessed unconsciousness.
The morning alarm brought me back, to
understand my desperate need for
normalcy to push this whole melodramatic
mess out, out, out! Keep moving, one foot
at a time, eyes forward, focused on each
next chore. Somehow my face, my body,
lied for me, kept to my habitual script.
I very much didn’t want to talk about it,
to seek comforting or support. I wanted it
to go away — to never be.
I found a new route home, discovered
along it that I had become hypervigilant
while walking alone through city streets.
This city of strangers that I had hoped
would be my home had become a hostile
place to push away in self defense.
Pushed into an unwanted future where
the test comes up “Pregnant” after those
ugly symptoms could no longer be ignored.
Pushed now to find a way to take care
of my needs, to confront politics, that
whole divisive headache I had believed
not part of my life.
Suddenly I’ve become a victim of
multiple powerful men — the power
of physical force and the power of
unjust law pushed through by cynical,
deceitful misogynists using pumped
up hate to get ahead.
Much as I desperately try to normalize
these agonizing days, weeks, this
nightmare escalates. Those nonignorable
symptoms keep getting more and worse.
Pushed to accept, take in, this unacceptable
situation because these symptoms
seem serious. I have heard of high risk
pregnancies that require constant
monitoring, even sometimes termination
to save the vessel for future use. Surely I
would not be forced to continue having
this thing growing in me if it would kill me.
Barely holding my multiply suffering
body and mind together, I push myself
to take control and get to the closest ER.
Look! I yell into me, trying to center,
to find refuge in rationality. I am a
normal person, leading a narrow,
normal life. These health crisis
professionals will know what to do,
will make everything alright!
I have made it to what I have built up
in my anxious imagination as the blessed
temple of healing. Unfortunately, it is
more like Purgatory — the endless
waiting. I do understand the many more
needy of immediate care. I submerge
my fear and pain in silent singing, measured
breathing, hearing again my father’s wrath
when he had been drinking or sometimes
when he hadn’t but was feeling bitter honestly.
Family, memories, never consoling.
Certainly no one I can call for help or advice
or anything but judgement of an unkind kin.
I had been so happy to get so far away, to
reframe my life to be mine, hopeful with possibilities.
Yes, possibilities unanticipated. So many
sick days out, fallen (failing) performance,
there goes my once so bright, golden
promising job and its perks, like health insurance.
Pushed to realize my life is meaningless
beyond my private sphere. Pushed to understand
that my fragile forming friendships here are
far from strong enough to be burdened with
what has become my Truth.
At long last it is my turn to be seen. I have
become so weak, barely aware of being
lifted onto a gurney, hooked up to a fetal
monitor and IV, prodded, needle poked to
take my blood. The hands and voices are
concerned that the baby is in distress.
“Take it out of me!” I scream, crying snot
and tears and fear and rage. They inject a
fluid to induce labor, ready me to push
at their command.
Finally! It’s out, my nemesis expelled,
pushed from its unwelcome lodging.
I feel only pure exhaustion, running blood.
Fading, I hear from above:
“Yay! We saved the baby.”
Apparently too far gone for further
ministration, I am left with
the agony of life falling out of me. Faintly,
plaintively, I hear a sober retort:
“Yes, we saved this child to live, while it
does, with severe health issues requiring
extensive expensive care. It enters this
tragic life alone, parentless. Who will take
on this responsibility?
Letting the mother choose, to have the
chance to live, maybe have future healthy
children, would have been responsible, and humane.”
#shortstory #women #rights #responsibility #tragedy #metoo #politics #herstory #health #violence
any suggestions for places to post where this will be seen?
and, Please #Share!
#fiction
not fallen
https://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/t2681
https://yprophecies.wordpress.com/2023/09/03/not-fallen/
Pushing, always about pushing.
Pushing his weight off me too late,
exhausted, spent, his rage into me,
breaking, bruising, pain and shame
and devastation.
Him, a sudden force, pushing me into that
alley, so near my home I had no thought
of danger. So routine, my walk from the
subway after my work day, even though, late
Fall, well past twilight. I expected just another
evening of my uneventful life since I came to
this city to pursue my career.
I didn’t know the attacker who pushed me
from behind, covered my face with a huge,
hard hand so I wouldn’t scream, or see him,
too close to count on darkness. After,
released to drag myself home, I drank
sloppy mugs of red wine and cried, on my
way to blessed unconsciousness.
The morning alarm brought me back, to
understand my desperate need for
normalcy to push this whole melodramatic
mess out, out, out! Keep moving, one foot
at a time, eyes forward, focused on each
next chore. Somehow my face, my body,
lied for me, kept to my habitual script.
I very much didn’t want to talk about it,
to seek comforting or support. I wanted it
to go away — to never be.
I found a new route home, discovered
along it that I had become hypervigilant
while walking alone through city streets.
This city of strangers that I had hoped
would be my home had become a hostile
place to push away in self defense.
Pushed into an unwanted future where
the test comes up “Pregnant” after those
ugly symptoms could no longer be ignored.
Pushed now to find a way to take care
of my needs, to confront politics, that
whole divisive headache I had believed
not part of my life.
Suddenly I’ve become a victim of
multiple powerful men — the power
of physical force and the power of
unjust law pushed through by cynical,
deceitful misogynists using pumped
up hate to get ahead.
Much as I desperately try to normalize
these agonizing days, weeks, this
nightmare escalates. Those nonignorable
symptoms keep getting more and worse.
Pushed to accept, take in, this unacceptable
situation because these symptoms
seem serious. I have heard of high risk
pregnancies that require constant
monitoring, even sometimes termination
to save the vessel for future use. Surely I
would not be forced to continue having
this thing growing in me if it would kill me.
Barely holding my multiply suffering
body and mind together, I push myself
to take control and get to the closest ER.
Look! I yell into me, trying to center,
to find refuge in rationality. I am a
normal person, leading a narrow,
normal life. These health crisis
professionals will know what to do,
will make everything alright!
I have made it to what I have built up
in my anxious imagination as the blessed
temple of healing. Unfortunately, it is
more like Purgatory — the endless
waiting. I do understand the many more
needy of immediate care. I submerge
my fear and pain in silent singing, measured
breathing, hearing again my father’s wrath
when he had been drinking or sometimes
when he hadn’t but was feeling bitter honestly.
Family, memories, never consoling.
Certainly no one I can call for help or advice
or anything but judgement of an unkind kin.
I had been so happy to get so far away, to
reframe my life to be mine, hopeful with possibilities.
Yes, possibilities unanticipated. So many
sick days out, fallen (failing) performance,
there goes my once so bright, golden
promising job and its perks, like health insurance.
Pushed to realize my life is meaningless
beyond my private sphere. Now I understand
that my fragile forming friendships here are
far from strong enough to be burdened with
what has become my Truth.
At long last it is my turn to be seen. I have
become so weak, barely aware of being
lifted onto a gurney, hooked up to a fetal
monitor and IV, prodded, needle poked to
take my blood. The hands and voices are
concerned that the baby is in distress.
“Take it out of me!” I scream, crying snot
and tears and fear and rage. They inject a
fluid to induce labor, ready me to push
at their command.
Finally! It’s out, my nemesis expelled,
pushed from its unwelcome lodging.
I feel only pure exhaustion, running blood.
Fading, I hear from above:
“Yay! We saved the baby.”
Apparently too far gone for further
ministration, I am left with
the agony of life falling out of me. Faintly,
plaintively, I hear a sober retort:
“Yes, we saved this child to live, while it
does, with severe health issues requiring
extensive expensive care. It enters this
tragic life alone, parentless. Who will take
on this responsibility?
Letting the mother choose, to have the
chance to live, maybe have future healthy
children, would have been responsible, and humane.”
#shortstory #women #rights #responsibility #tragedy #metoo #politics #herstory #health #violence
any suggestions for places to post where this will be seen?
and, Please Share!
not fallen #fiction
https://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/t2681
Pushing, always about pushing.
Pushing his weight off me too late,
exhausted, spent, his rage into me,
breaking, bruising, pain and shame and devastation.
Him, a sudden force, pushing me into that alley,
so near my home I had no thought of danger.
So routine, my walk from the subway after my
work day, even though, late Fall, well past twilight.
I expected just another evening of my uneventful life
since I came to this city to pursue my career.
I didn’t know the attacker who pushed me from behind,
covered my face with a huge, hard hand so I wouldn’t
scream, or see him, too close to count on darkness.
After, released to drag myself home, I drank sloppy
mugs of red wine and cried, on my way to blessed
unconsciousness.
The morning alarm brought me back, to understand
my desperate need for normalcy to push this whole
melodramatic mess out, out, out! Keep moving, one
foot at a time, eyes forward, focused on each next chore.
Somehow my face, my body, lied for me, kept to my
habitual script.
I very much didn’t want to talk about it, to seek
comforting or support. I wanted it to go away – to
never be.
I found a new route home, discovered along it that I
had become hypervigilant while walking alone through
city streets. This city of strangers that I had hoped would
be my home had become a hostile place to push away in
self defense.
Pushed into an unwanted future where the test
comes up “Pregnant” after those ugly symptoms
could no longer be ignored.
Pushed now to find a way to take care of my needs,
to confront politics, that whole divisive headache
I had believed not part of my life.
Suddenly I’ve become a victim of multiple powerful
men – the power of physical force and the power of
unjust law pushed through by cynical, deceitful
misogynists using pumped up hate to get ahead.
Much as I desperately try to normalize these agonizing
days, weeks, this nightmare escalates. Those
nonignorable symptoms keep getting more and worse.
Pushed to accept, take in, this unacceptable situation
because these symptoms seem serious. I have heard
of high risk pregnancies that require constant monitoring,
even sometimes termination to save the vessel for future use.
Surely I would not be forced to continue having this thing
growing in me if it would kill me.
Barely holding my multiply suffering body and mind
together, I push myself to take control and get to the
closest ER.
Look! I yell into me, trying to center, to find refuge in
rationality. I am a normal person, leading a narrow, normal
life. These health crisis professionals will know what to do,
will make everything alright!
I have made it to what I have built up in my anxious
imagination as the blessed temple of healing.
Unfortunately, it is more like Purgatory – the endless
waiting. I do understand the many more needy of
immediate care. I submerge my fear and pain in silent
singing, measured breathing, hearing again my father’s wrath
when he had been drinking or sometimes when he hadn’t but
was feeling bitter honestly. Family, memories, never consoling.
Certainly no one I can call for help or advice or anything
but judgement of an unkind kin. I had been so happy to get
so far away, to reframe my life to be mine, hopeful with
possibilities.
Yes, possibilities unanticipated. So many sick days out,
fallen (failing) performance, there goes my once so bright,
golden promising job and its perks, like health insurance.
Pushed to realize my life is meaningless beyond my private
sphere. Now I understand that my fragile forming friendships
here are far from strong enough to be burdened with what has
become my Truth.
At long last it is my turn to be seen. I have become so weak,
barely aware of being lifted onto a gurney, hooked up to a fetal
monitor and IV, prodded, needle poked to take my blood.
The hands and voices are concerned that the baby is in distress.
“Take it out of me!” I scream, crying snot and tears and fear
and rage. They inject a fluid to induce labor, ready me to
push at their command.
Finally! It’s out, my nemesis expelled, pushed from
its unwelcome lodging. I feel only pure
exhaustion, running blood. Fading, I hear from above:
“Yay! We saved the baby.” Apparently too far gone for
further ministration, I am left with the agony of life falling
out of me. Faintly, plaintively I hear a sober retort:
“Yes, we saved this child to live, while it does, with severe
health issues requiring extensive expensive care. It enters
this tragic life alone, parentless. Who will take on this
responsibility? Letting the mother choose, to have the
chance to live, maybe have future healthy children, would
have been responsible, and humane.”
#shortstory #women #rights #responsibility #tragedy #metoo #dangerouspolitics #herstory #health
