From the time she was a baby, Denise was coddled by everyone.
Her parents never told her no.
Her teachers never told her no.
Her professors never told her no.
Everywhere was a safe space for Denise.
Never challenged, never questioned.
She stayed a baby forever.
Never really became a real person.
Your skin doesn’t toughen up without a few bruises and cuts.
If you don’t have to wash off the mud and dirt, it never really shines.
Life was one big safe space for her.
Her coffin was the safest space of all.
Nailed shut, sealed away from everything.
One thought on “Coddled”
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Mmmmm, very very good. I’d really like to know about Denise’s inevitable demise. Was she lonely when she croaked, riddled by cancer, crippled by some exotic disease, mangled in a car/plane/helicopter crash? Did she scream in panic? Did she cry when then unavoidablity of her morbid situation kicked in a minute, a year or a month before her death? How old was she? Still a crispy fresh teenager or an old spoiled lady? Has she been through a hurtful divorce? Was she a mother, a granny? Did life touch her at all? So many 10o word stories creeping up into my brain now. :o