Nescio (22)

NESCIO (22)

In the grip of uncharacteristic self-confidence, the priestess enrolled on an evening class.

Having always loved pottery she thought she would chance a slab-pot, a coil-pot; throw the odd bowl. (Like making bread, clay was good for the soul.)

But, though she appreciated fine porcelain, her own efforts were hideous; got under the skin.

Some kind of ceramic premonition?

The priestess considered the possibility. (Was the woman correct or just being silly?)

And, then.

Something inside her finally snapped. She'd had more than enough of countering bad. Her energy and optimism were utterly sapped.

The priestess felt suddenly wretched and tired; the world remained miserable despite how she tried. (And substance abuse had left her brain fried.)

The priestess lay down and curled up in agony.

The priestess finally accepted that life was a tragedy.

The priestess gave in and gave up and then, suddenly, the priestess just cracked up and cried.