A picture worthy of a story. Jemmica.

Jemmica always knew who she was, where she was going, and who she would admit into the company of her life. I never knew her to stutter, falter or second-guess herself. She was Confidence in very high heels and smoky eye shadow. I and my old fraying book bag and baggy jeans hadn’t spoken with her in years.

One day, I was walking to the grocery store, my scarf wrapped around my head to fight the cold, and I saw Jemmica across the street. She was bunched over, one hand propped against the gnarled tree outside Mr Grobalt’s double-storeyed house. I assumed she was fiddling with a problematic shoe, and wondered abstractedly if she was ruining a manicure. Then I heard her cry out.

I did a hasty ‘right then left’ before running over the road, almost wiping out on a patch of ice. I reached the pavement and leaned over next to her, asking, “What is it, Jemmica? Are you okay?”

She moaned and leant forcefully against me. I had to brace myself to hold us up.

“What is it?” I repeated, bewildered and increasingly fearful. Her hair was slipping out of its band and partially curtaining her face, but I could see that her cheeks were flushed, and she was sweating.

“It’s gone,” she whined painfully. “I got rid of it.” Then my strength gave out and we collapsed together with a hard thud onto the ground. I grimaced but didn’t make a sound, just held onto her and looked up and around for help.

She leaned into my chest, and started shuddering. “I’m so sorry,” I muttered into her head, horrified at what it was I suspected she had revealed to me. I stroked her forehead soothingly and made subdued sounds. She continued to keen, and I rocked her on that cold pavement as though she was one of my little boys.


Please note: This story is of course complete fiction, and has absolutely no real-life connection with either the photographer or the model. I found the image on Pinterest, pinned by storage.uhqmodels.ru. If anyone knows the photographer’s and model’s names, please let me know so I can make proper attribution.


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  1. Flash fiction: Running to the Karoo | Living my write life - August 11, 2013

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