Wednesday, November 10, 2010


He stood afar off, away from the crowd, his quiet demeanour echoing the gentle spirit I know so well. Aghast by the vigour of the other participants, I draw my memoir close to my chest, endeavouring to keep it pure, unsoiled by the hateful comments flowing from the mouths of the malcontents. How could they believe such a thing? Why would they accept such blasphemy spoken from such a wily character? Once they would have stood firm for their king, and now they seek to destroy him. To believe the raucous comments maligning the words I so loving penned. My book should have set him upon a pillar; a place deserving of such a man. Will he ever look upon me the same again? The fire within me burns away my hope, and the book held close to my chest crushes my heart.
© 2010 by Maureen Newman. All rights reserved.
Written in response to a prompt from Magpie Tales.


  1. "the book held close to my chest crushes my heart" -- beautiful.
    -- K

    Kay, Alberta, Canada
    An Unfittie's Guide to Adventurous Travel

  2. Excellent - love the closing line especially!

  3. Wonderful take... the book crushing her chest, very passionate piece.

  4. sad and moving piece.
    you made it with short story length.
    way to go.

  5. words can lift or destroy...and even crush our very being...great write on prompt...bkm

  6. Very deep; hope you don't experience this with your book; what must he have thought. I liked this very much, my first visit to you blog.