Flash fiction: 

She means to mean well; you can almost admire her tenacity. She never quite makes it over the hump to where she actually means well, but you can see that she’d like to. You wish you didn’t hate her, because hating people doesn’t do anybody any good and everybody knows that, but she sure makes it easy, when you figure it out.

When you look over your shoulder, it’s plain and you wonder why you didn’t see it before, but that’s how life works. We understand our mistakes after we’ve made them more than once and they’ve smacked us in the face, and maybe we can do something about them or maybe we can’t. 

She reminds you of mistakes, and you allow her whispers power.

She will cut you in the knees, the ankles, slashing with smiles, severing truth and leaving festering doubt until you cannot stand and fight because she means for you to fight yourself.

She means to mean well, and she cannot even manage that. She is focused on her wants and needs, and those things never wind up the same as being good to anyone but her, and she can’t get over that wall. She hurts everyone around her, including herself.

You know her when you think about her, and later, when the gray starts to show, you see what a poison she is. She’s that friend who wasn’t, the love that isn’t, and the dream that will never be.

She means to mean well.


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