An Excerpt From My Ongoing Work, “To Always Be Alone”.
“Running off wasn’t really necessary.” She turned away from him, but removed her hands, clasping them down by her waist. “Beck,” Her father said softly. Rebecca rolled her eyes, and turned to face him. When she was little she had loved watching an old chicken scratch and peck through the grass. She would imitate the old hen, and push soft fingers into the earth, “Peck, Peck, Peck.” She would sing softly. “Beck, Beck, Beck,” He had said, calling her. Now, twenty years of growing up later, she thought it sounded silly, but some people had already been adults in 1898, and didn’t want certain things to change. “Why does she do that to me?” She asked softly. “What–‘ “I’m not little anymore, I don’t need someone to play mother to me!” She looked out towards the barn; a stream of light lay on the ground in front of the door.