This is me

6. 15.06.2024

Muriel sighed, turned her free hand - the one not gripping for life on the umbrella handle - upwards facing the rain and proclaimed:

“ Here, this is me “

In her hushed voice, the statement was as much confession as surrender. There was nothing more she could do. Keenly feeling that she was in the right, that she had always been and yet made to feel that, somehow, she was at fault, she could have done more. Why did people do that, turn things around, and reflect them as a means of deflection? She knew she should walk but to give in like this would make the path back so much harder.

She studied the eyes of the recipient of her words for a trace of emotion, reason, understanding, but found nothing, instead a kind of blank insouciance. She felt an uncharacteristic urge to fold down her brolly and thrust the spiked end, as hard as she could, into the gut of the person with those empty eyes, but instead turned on her heels and walked away in resignation.