Short Stories, Writing

Women’s Own

She was reading a yellowed magazine in her doctor’s waiting room. It was filled with stock photos of people sitting in front of unpaid bills or windows smeared with rain, staring contemplatively into space. The people would look vacantly or despairingly at the piles of paper, through the glass, into the abyss. It bought out an odd feeling in her. Like she had missed out. It made her feel alienated or uninvited in a schoolyard kind of way. Continue reading “Women’s Own”