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Ever since childhood, I was comforted by the whir of fans until I wasn’t.

The soft, white noise was interrupted one night.

I became dirty then– a teenage wasteland.

But, I cleaned up and found a man who wants to marry me.

We are supposed to be having a lovely time visiting vineyards and old barns to hold our reception.

And, now I am haunted by this huge, unexpected fan. It is as if its spun air’s weight is burning my head and shoulders and sucking away all the oxygen.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t speak.

I wake alone. Single. Sleep driven away by another night of PTSD.

(108 word count)

Photo by Yarnspinnerr

Prompt by Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers


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