#17 of 100
They Called Me a Homeless Woman. But, I’m More.
I am a woman, a daughter, and a person inhabited by relentless confidants.
The whispers came to me since I was a baby. The voices no one else heard.
I remember the moment I lost the position of my mama’s pride and joy. It was the moment I became too strange, too much.
I was one with my constant companions. They were always speaking to me, telling me everything. I owe them my life. They saved me multiple times. They were like mothers to me. Always female.
They shouted a warning to me that morning.
Something is coming, Florie. Something big. You must stop the woman who will destroy your mother.
“What?!”
My sudden outburst caused the man who was passing me to jump defensively. He looked at me then, scanning me. I saw the moment he assessed me as a derelict. He looked away. His steps quickened then; he dropped something.
I forgot what the voice was saying, bent to pick it up. My outstretched hands, held it out, pointed it towards the man retreating from me.
“Sir — ”
No! You’ll need it, Florie. Stop! Get the card. Buy something.
