Frail Hands
1 min readOct 8, 2019
The final read
Her small, frail hands draped across her newest novel, she closed her eyes. She had always loved to read. It was the one thing in life that always brought her joy.
She read widely and often. It didn’t matter what she read, she always enjoyed the escape.
She read about unicorns cavorting in the glen and forgot the housework for an hour. She read about a couple finding romance in a picture-perfect town and forgot her own troubled marriage for an hour. She read about a woman’s adventures with her dogs and forgot the pain of not having children for an hour.
Her frail hand rested on the last page of her latest book of poetry. It had helped her forget her own troubled life, a life that ended at the last word.