Category: Prose

Written for the dVerse Prosery Prompt by Amy Woolard:
“What does it matter that the stars we see are already dead”

“What does it matter that the stars we see are already dead? What does that even mean, Margie?”

“Oh, Nell. If I have to explain it to you, it loses its gravitas, its pathos, doesn’t it?”

“Gravitas? Pathos? I’m sorry .… when were you named chief cook, bottlewasher and poet laureate?”

Margie gave her friend a dismissive eye roll before turning her back, busying herself with little scraps of paper on her desk.

There was a time the two were like sisters, cherishing a bond they never found with anyone else. Now they barely recognized each other; their conversations were stilted to the point of being painful.

And it all came down to Nicole, a newcomer in their exclusive inner circle …. a renaissance woman and Margie thought she hung the moon.

“I miss us, Margie”

Intense silence. Spoken words were never as wounding.

NAR©2024
144 Words

Prosery – Amy Woolard

This is “Sisters Of The Moon” by Fleetwood Mac

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