Contest: Writing Prompts for FreeWriters

The Girl Whose Happy Poems Vanished: So Her Antagonists Became Her Blockchain Writing Curriculum

She wanted to be able to write about happy things too. She even bought a diary, the old-fashioned kind, ink to paper. Nothing digital.

She had just been rehabilitated enough to hold a pen again- a significant feat given her dexterity had been severely impacted by the side effects of her ordeal.

She wanted to overwrite her life story with all things positive in her life, no matter how trivial. But she was unable to write anymore like she once did.

No more happy poems or stories.

She would ask her reflection in the mirror.

How to inspire you again?

Photo by Lena Albers on Unsplash

She tried but the ink in the pen dried up by the time those dramatic bits settled.

Those events kept replaying themselves incoherently in her mind. All jumbled up, bursting at the seams of her mind.

They were all that she could ever think of. Nothing else. It's THEM, THEM and THEM.

That got the ink flowing, the tears too. She cried, she screamed, and she wrote.

About what they did to her.

Soon, the clicks and coins started to grow. For the first time in her life, people actually listened to her.

She might as well put her suffering - those insidious things in her life- to good use. Write and purge them until her last breath.

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At the same time, these antagonists never ceased with their attacks. Through those acts, they became her writing curriculum specialist, ensuring there was a constant supply of writing.

Things they said and did to her. How they almost succeeded in making her leap off that building. How she almost never lived to write about it.

These kept her writing, resulting in pages and pages of never-ending stories.

The words on the screen were the outpouring of her pain. It's never easy to unburden the weight of what we carry.

Their cruelty had made them infamous, with a folio of poetry about their heinous acts, now known across the internet and blockchain too.

She didn't name names outright. But what could she do? Helpless and almost hopeless, she could only write, and writing became her prescribed therapy.

They ruined her, and now she's using them as her self-care tools to survive.

She will never be able to write a happily-ever-after story, because she's the protagonist of a tragedy.

One might ask:
What's it worth doing all these?

It's about putting her story into perspective; it's not something that she conjured in her mind.

Fragments of stories are now coming together, a narrative more than a decade in the making.

And for all it's cost, they had already trampled on her dignity.

She's now hard at work to keep her sanity intact, finally tossing away the wishful thinking that these people would ever change for the better.

That's a wish more impossible than any dream.

©Britt H.

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