Maybe Someday

“Will that be all, Mrs. Kramer,” Mol asked, sincerely hoping it was. She only had to stop by the office to make her last report and she’d be through.

The wizened face pouted. “I’m going to ask Papa to make you stay.”

“Mm-hmm,” Mol said, collecting the dishes.

“Aren’t you going to say thank you?”

Mol gripped the medicine bottle tightly for a moment but didn’t turn around. “Goodbye, Mrs. Kramer.”

The old woman began to shake and sob. “Of all the ingratitude! That’s why papa says being nice to your kind is a waste. You’ll never work again.”

Mol pushed her cart out of the room. She could still hear Mrs. Kramer railing as she locked the door behind her but stopped to take a few notes before she reported to Ms. Harris.

Ms. Harris greeted Mol with a smile. “How bad was she?”

“Not too bad today,” Mol said, sitting down. “I’ve heard stories from other interns, and history books of course, but nothing prepares you for the real thing. She still believes her father is in power. I don’t think she even knows there was a war.”

“The most promising candidates get the hardest assignments.” Ms. Harris said. “I’m looking forward to your write-up. Let’s get the exit interview out of the way.”


“At the beginning of your internship you said you believed its main purpose was to impress upon candidates that to lead justly, one had to learn to serve. Do you still feel that way?”

“Yes. Though this experience reinforced compassion’s importance.”

“Did you start to feel compassion for her?”

Mol paused, wondering how honest to be. “The subject made the evils of the past viscerally real. Her complicity in perpetuating them is unquestionable. In her world, I’d likely be dead. That she’s alive and cared for just shows how compassionate society has become.”

I really aced that interview, Mol thought, pouring herself a glass of wine. She took her glass to her apartment’s large picture window and looked out at the city. She didn’t feel anything close to compassion for Ida Kramer. But she was grateful for a world where compassion was an option...if not today, maybe someday.

Photo by Jonas Kaiser on Unsplash

Song Choice: Those Were The Days

This flash fiction piece was created for Poets and Storytellers United's Weekly Scribblings Prompt, Things Were Different Back Then.


You see
the sharp delineation
of the narrow path
we are expected to take.

I see
the barrier
that crumbles

from the force of will
of a dandelion
demanding its place in the sun.

Photo by Nikola Johnny Mirkovic on Unsplash

Song Choice: Crumbling Down by John Mellencamp

This poem was created for the prompt given at Poetry and Storytellers United's Weekly Scribblings: Pavement.

Even When You Know

For an acolyte of Cassandra
very little is unexpected.

I am used to shouting into fields,
where the only acknowledgement
comes from the nodding of distracted flowers
moved by the whims of the wind.

What is unexpected
is that even when you know
what the weight of tired is
down to the ounce,

and are intimately acquainted
with how it grows
and compounds over time,

the physical dividends
still manage to bring unwilling gasps of pain
even when you know it’s coming.

Photo by Anh Nguyen on Unsplash

Song Choice: Unwell covered by Jimmie Allen

This poem was created for the Weekly Scribblings prompt at Poets and Storytellers United: Well, That Was Unexpected.