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Writing Practice #4: Growing Grief

September 21, 2017

For these exercises, I am pulling a random image from the internet and giving myself up to 1 hour to write something. 

She wept at her first sight of it. Tears cascaded down her weathered face, and great wracking sobs shook her entire body. The guide who brought her to the place stood silently to the side, with his eyes cast downward in respect for her grief. He waited, patiently, for the woman’s crying to subside, and, when it had, she looked at him with her questions showing in her gray red-rimmed eyes. 

“Why?!”, she asked after a time. “We made all the right sacrifices and offerings. Why would he do this to us?”

The guide sighed deeply and told her the same as he had to the dozen other widows: “Lord Poseidon saw the beautiful gardens that your people planted on land. And the other gods laughed at him and wagered he would never know what it is to cultivate a garden.”

The guide paused as he saw the realization slowly take over the woman’s face. Her deep grief twisted quickly into a powerful rage as she spoke with a low, measured voice. 

“So he destroyed our ships, one after another, taking the lives of our husbands, sons, and brothers, and all just to make…”, she swallowed hard and continued, “…a garden of anchors.”

She turned to the guide and asked the question that would change her forever.

“Tell me, my guide, how may I summon the Furies? It is time that the gods felt some retribution of their capriciousness.

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