Perhaps it is the water, or maybe the act of doing something innocuous like washing dishes, but she can only cry at the kitchen sink.

She’d made the discovery by accident. She’d been scrubbing a plate when a paroxysm of grief surged through her, racking sobs that were thankfully drowned out by the rushing faucet.

She’d stood there weeping, the water cascading over her hands matching the tears rolling over her cheeks.

Afterward she felt amazing.



Now after dinner she quickly gathers the plates and silverware, shoos her family from the kitchen, her heart skipping in eager anticipation


Friday Fictioneers


8 thoughts on “Purging

  1. If she can cry only at the kitchen sink, there must be something she doesn’t want anyone else to see or know. I’m wondering if she’ll keep it up for a lifetime, or finally weary of having so much despair in her soul and decide to call it quits.

    Intriguing, Randy. Well done.

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