It seemed too harsh. She had spent long nights weaving the tale. When her friends had been out at the movies, she’d been stuck to her laptop. When her mother had asked for company, she’d refused. Plus, her dog’s requests for belly rubs had been ignored. “So will I ever be an author,” she asked the dark clouds. It rained. “The clouds feel so bad that they’re crying,” said her mother. The little girl remembered to smile.
Rejection & the Child