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Hannah Consuelo

United States

Journalism, Poetry & Short Stories
It all starts with a little bit of truth- writing about life far away and life close to home, the ordinary and the great.

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make sense out of the senseless & vice versa

A Human World- Part I

December 5, 2015

FREE WRITING

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    The first thing he would do when he got home would be to take my notebooks off the bedside table, barely visible under an avalance of books, and read- silently attempting to decipher the scribbles and cross-outs, both which always overpowered any idea of substance drifitng through the pages. The whole time I would anxiously glance over his shoulder, shutting it abruptly when I thought he'd seen enough. 
    "It's my brain," I tried to explain to him, expecting a long protest. People often grew angry with me when I refused to surrender them my scribbled pages, stubborn with entitlement, as if my words were written solely for their own viewing, the entertained yet evasive audience. He would just laugh, because he knew each time I let his reading grow longer, and each time the sound of my nervous pacing and skeptical glances would linger a little less. 

    The day I began to read outloud to the boy who loved to listen began with a summer storm. It unfloded itself under a roof already destined to collapse, a wooden demolition notice creating the core of its strongest remaining wall. While the downsatirs was completely gutted, revealing house's swaying bones and aching wounds, inflicted by unmerciful shovels of both trucks and time, the upstairs remained unscathed. Hexagonal in shape and completed with the brightness of floorboards pickled pale. 
    Armed with rainboots and a backpack full of words, trapped in a shelter more precarious than its storm, I began to read. 

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