hiddenspace

Various scribbled danced about the page. They were useless. No point to them, like the many before, them. I scrupled up the paper into a wrinkled ball and threw it onto the seat opposite me. _______________________________________________________________________ I looked at her. Sleeping. She looked beautiful when she was sleeping. Even more beautiful than normal. If that was possible. And she was mine. At last. Finally. Deborah. ______________________________________________________________________ "Leoni! Get down from there. You're making a fool of your self. NOW! I said sternly, as my daughter leaped and jumped about on the already packed carriage. Why was she playing up now? It was only a couple of minutes left till we had to get off. _____________________________________________________________________ A young girl started scream. I kneeled up on my seat and turned round to look. The young girl was about 6. Her mother was the mother of 5. Poor woman. The whole carriage was looking. The mother's weary, tired eyes looked around. I tried to look sympathetic, but obviously failed as she turned away and began hissing to her children. Is that what motherhood's like? Being judged, looked down upon, and tired? Lonely? Agitated? Frustrated?