Update: So I’m sometimes reading challenged (hahaha (that did deserve an extra “ha”)). I thought the photo Susan had used as the prompt was familiar and she mentioned in her post that it was the first photo she’d written on for Sunday Photo Fiction. The story I wrote was very different from the one today. I’d kind of even forgot about it. Here’s the link in case you want to see the difference 2 years makes in responding to a photo prompt.
It’s been forever since I’ve done a Sunday Photo Fiction for which I apologize because I’ve always love being a part of it. Thanks to Susan for carrying on. Click on the link if you’d like to participate.
You taught me to dream. Of unicorns, Pegasus, flying dragons spewing fire. You taught me Shakespeare, Faulkner, Steinbeck, and Dorothy Parker.
I came to you when angry words filled gaps, when pans were thrown, when bottles shattered, when fists met flesh.
You opened your door and I was drenched in sounds, Billie Holiday, Frank Sinatra, and then I’d wince as Doris Day crooned Que Sera Sera because this was as far from normal as I could be.
With pebernødder, hot chocolate dolloped with whipped cream, and stories of Denmark, you gave me something, something more than anyone ever had before.
The worst day arrived, but you took me in. Tried to make me forget visions of my parents, knuckles on bone, blood, the visionless eyes of mother staring upward. You removed the threat of abuse and replaced it with music, Tchaikovsy, Zeppelin, Dire Stairs, Bob Marley’s “Three Little Birds.”
On my twelfth birthday, a Stratocaster fused to my hands and music became my resurrection. With string, amp, pick, I emerged, a butterfly, a dragon-queen, free, guided by your trust, almost from nightmares.
Your belief in me gave me all the world.