by Lori Cramer
I used to dress in fluorescent colors, desperate to be seen, known, and understood. Look at me, my bright pink sweatshirt shrieked. Talk to me, my neon green leggings screeched. Spend time with me, my vibrant orange baseball hat shouted.
These days, I clothe myself in charcoal gray, an elusive hue that doesn’t beg for anyone’s attention, but instead warns: Stop staring at me; I’m not a spectacle for your entertainment. Don’t start a conversation with me; I’ve no interest in sharing my thoughts with you. Go away and leave me alone; you’ll never understand me.
Lori Cramer’s short prose has appeared in The Cabinet of Heed, Elephants Never, Flash: The International Short-Short Story Magazine, and Splonk, among others. Her story “Scars” (Fictive Dream, February 2018) was nominated for Best Microfiction 2019. Links to her writing can be found at https://loricramerfiction.wordpress.com. Twitter: @LCramer29.