photo (c) J Hardy
WARNING: Disturbing content
Chosen by a Goddess
For years I watched them. My faded blue uniform, dingy yellow pail on wheels with filthy water, and heavy mop gave me a front-row ticket to the show.
Every morning and afternoon, they knelt before me, a chorus of chattering goddesses, their firm young bodies, scarcely covered many times. Oblivious to me, a school fixture as unnoticed as a metal wastebasket, I leaned and watched and watched.
Until one noticed me. Our eyes met and her kind face smiled – for me.
I waited each day until she stayed late one winter afternoon.
She was light as an angel’s feather.
Rochelle Wisoff-Fields is the creative host of Friday Fictioneers.