Her Place
Denise Kincy
Break
On one wall of the place where she lives hang small pictures of Japanese ladies, geishas, their slanted, beckoning eyes and creamy-soft skin the envy of many an American woman. These make her smile. Another wall has pictures of Victorian women, those prudish, self-centered, corseted females she loves to look at but would never want to be like.
The roof of her place is corrugated tin, keeping her safe while letting her hear the rain; the thing she can count on, the thing that keeps her sane.
The floor changes with her mood. Sometimes it's deep, tainted mud, other times smooth linoleum. Every once in a while it turns to beautiful green grass, but more often than not the floor is made of jagged rocks, so she can go barefoot and punish herself.
In front is a door, but she seldom opens it.
The back wall holds her memories, love stories, comedies, dramas, a selection of tragedies; small movies she can choose to turn and watch at any given moment, or as she more often does, ignore.
She thinks of moving out. She dreams a lot, of far away places and happy people, of parties and laughter, of all that is outside her place. But with the morning comes the realization that along with adventure is the prospect of pain.
So she straightens the pictures, mows, mops, sweeps or dusts, according to the frame of mind she's in, and settles for another day of living in her place.
Denise Kincy's fiction, poetry, essays and articles have appeared in Skive, Underground Voices, Culture Star Reader and Hot Psychology, along with numerous other online and print publications. A 2005 Pushcart nominee, Denise is a native Texan.  A Writer's Journey