A short story

I realized as I was walking through a parking lot this evening, that, while I don’t write short stories, I would like to write short stories.  And so it was there in the parking lot that this short story (or this something like a short story) began.

Cecila

Cecilia wasn’t sure of herself.  Every time she went, she felt like a total and complete fool.  However, she persisted.  Every week, on Tuesday afternoon, she’d pick out her clothes and socks and shoes, grab a quick snack, and head out the door.  Every time, she looked stunning, even irresistible, yet knew it would have little effect on how she felt about herself for the next couple hours.

It’s true that she was a natural – she had merely only seen the best, and so felt herself awkward and clumsy in comparison, almost to the point of hopelessness.  And yet she never gave up.  One time, a long time before the writing of this story, someone said something to her – well, not so much to her as about her and within earshot – on one of those Tuesday afternoons, and she never forgot it.

“I wish I could do it like her,” was this overheard and utterly impactful comment.   If she could be the desired outcome of another, then she must be worthy of being there, no matter how she felt with her own judgements about herself.

She wasn’t ever sure if that person knew she had heard, and she never discussed it with anyone.   But she remembered it, and it inspired her to persevere every week.
Post-a-day 2017

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