As she looked in her handheld mirror at her aged face, with its wrinkles and age spots, she dreams of going back in time to when she was a winsome young lady. Days of when, men would fall at her feet. Only this time she wanted to be young in the 21st century… and not in the dark-aged century she was born in.
But now, as her life is coming to end, she thinks of all the times, that winsome young lady did what pleased others and not herself.
She lived in the times of when women were expected to find a man, bear children and become the perfect wife.
Times of when your hobby would be needlework or knitting. Yes, knitting the kids jumpers for school, because it was cheaper. And cable jumpers for those dark, cold winter days, and the pullover for her beloved.
All she had to keep her dreams, was her written word…
Her diary… oh yes, the diary where she wrote list upon list of things she wanted to do. But dared not talk about, like being a dancer, for fear of it raising yet another argument. All she wanted was to learn to dance… dance like she did as a child.
Oh, how she wished she had been more direct and forthright. Hoping that her life had been full of fun, adventure, music and dance.
As she laid her now shapeless body back down on her bed, and rested her head on her feather pillow, she could feel her soul and body float off into a to an ethereal place… a place where you could be who you wanted to be and be free to follow your dreams with no-one to obstruct or destroy your dreams.
Faintly, in the distance she heard the nurse say, ‘It won’t be long.’ She was gone…
As she pirouetted her way through the puffy white cotton-wool clouds, she could now be who she dreamt and wanted to be.
She thought, thank you, I am so happy to be free and at peace…
Image courtesy of Ant-artistic (Deviant Art)
Bacardi Girl 