Flash Fiction

All The Baggage

A story about regaining humanity

I packed her up into a box. Neatly. All Marie Kondo folded and rolled.

She fits nicely into the smaller suitcase. All the extra baggage was gone. You can do that, you know. Get rid of the baggage. It’s not a prerequisite of life, dragging around all the stuff. You know, the pain-shaped bags that hurt to carry. The resentment packages that leak from their wrappings.

It’s okay to get rid of them.

She was me.

She looks like me. Smells like me. The curve of her smile is just like me. The lightly crooked front teeth, moved at age 35 after her parents paid thousands for braces at 15. The birthmark on her thigh. All like me.

She is me. The other me. The one I shed like a snake’s skin. The one who wouldn’t get rid of the painful bags and resentful packages. The scared me.

She’s all packed up. Folded. Rolled. Marie Kondo-ed.

I glance at the reflection in the mirror. She looks nice. Fresh. Confident. And for once, the reflection matches the inside. I actually feel like I look. The other one, the facade, the fake. All packed away. To be disposed of. Destroyed.

I breathe in. The air is fresh, clean, restorative. My lungs expand. My mind is clear. My heart. Ah! My heart is full! True. Confident. Linked to my brain. I am whole. Connected.

~thanks for reading~

And thank you to Trisha Traughber for the inspiration ❤

Lisa writes, reads, ponders, & even sings, from her home in Finland. If you’d like to keep in touch, sign up for Northern Notes.