Chilling Effects
Christina Murphy

I.

He was aware of his limitations and that ideals exist only in the mind. He had offered her his heart and had been rejected in the simplest of ways—No. No further explanations were provided, but he knew the outcome was inevitable, as inevitable perhaps as the ragged snow on the mountaintops that refused to admit that spring had arrived. Now was the time he had to look within to understand if he, too, did not see clearly that forces larger than his heart, his mind, controlled his fate and broke his heart.

II.

He had offered her his heart and had been rejected in the simplest of ways—No. No further explanations were provided, but he knew the outcome was inevitable, as inevitable perhaps as the ragged snow on the mountaintops that refused to admit that spring had arrived. Now was the time he had to look within to understand if he, too, did not see clearly that forces larger than his heart, his mind, controlled his fate and broke his heart. He was aware of his limitations and that ideals exist only in the mind.

III.

No further explanations were provided, but he knew the outcome was inevitable, as inevitable perhaps as the ragged snow on the mountaintops that refused to admit that spring had arrived. Now was the time he had to look within to understand if he, too, did not see clearly that forces larger than his heart, his mind, controlled his fate and broke his heart. He was aware of his limitations and that ideals exist only in the mind. He had offered her his heart and had been rejected in the simplest of ways—No.

IV.

Now was the time he had to look within to understand if he, too, did not see clearly that forces larger than his heart, his mind, controlled his fate and broke his heart. He was aware of his limitations and that ideals exist only in the mind. He had offered her his heart and had been rejected in the simplest of ways—No. No further explanations were provided, but he knew the outcome was inevitable, as inevitable perhaps as the ragged snow on the mountaintops that refused to admit that spring had arrived.

Christina Murphy lives and writes in a 100 year-old house along the Ohio River. She and the River share much in common in that they both continue to move westward. Christina grew up in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, where she hated high school and swore she would get her revenge one day. That aspect is still in progress. Her writing has been published in numerous online and print journals and has received an Editor’s Choice Award and “Special Mention” for a Pushcart Prize.



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