There’s No Turning Away From Yourself When You’re On Your Own
There’s No Turning Away From Yourself When You’re On Your Own

Photo by Kym MacKinnon on Unsplash

Tara woke up and tried to reach her listless, emaciated arms towards the sky. Golden light shone through the canopy of a tree above. The pale blue sky created a perfect canvas — tufts of cotton candy pink and baby blue clouds drifted lazily, showing off without meaning to.

The aroma of her stale and strong body odor assaulted Tara’s nose. Embarrassed, she tried to turn away from herself.

There’s no turning away from yourself when you're on your own.

Homeless.

Homeless.

I am homeless. Tara thought to herself. She hadn’t always been homeless.

She rubbed her knobby ankles and turned her head towards the dumpster she’d slept by all night.

It had become her new resting spot. The pale, beige dumpster sat outside of a government-subsidized apartment complex. She slept on the side obscured from the pale, blue brick apartments. A law office was on the other side. As long as she lay down after 7pm each night, no one seemed to be in the office. She was also hidden from street view. She felt safer here.
['Aimée Gramblin']
['Kindness', 'Short Story', 'Society', 'Fiction', 'Homeless']