By Lynda
He told her it wasn’t her fault. Like he always did, though it never was.
As he fumbled—fat sausage fingers, eyes squinting—her mind drifted. Outside, clouds scudded, a hint of jasmine floated in the open window, and to one side, she noticed a patch of wallpaper wilting from the wall, scuffed, discoloured. Tired.
She thought back to a time, years ago, rolling in the sheets, feeling an avalanche’s thundering crescendo, a tipping point reached.
Afterwards, he sat, cold-shouldered her. She knew he would have smoked a cigarette if he had one, if only just to feel something firm again.
You can just feel the shift in their relationship and… the maddening consistency of a problem not addressed between them. Really nice.
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Thanks. That’s exactly it.
Loved that sneaky dig at the end…
Your words paint a perfect picture, Lynda.
Thank you, Dee. Too often in a relationship, the blame sits with the wrong person. 🙂
Your words give voice to those suffering in silence. Powerful piece.
Thank you. Nostalgia and grief for what has gone.
Cleverly descriptive!
A perfect 100 words. Evocative story.
Oof.
Says so much in so few words.
So well-written and descriptive. Particularly liked “she noticed a patch of wallpaper wilting from the wall, scuffed, discoloured. Tired.” Just like her….
Whoa. You clearly communicated the frustration they both feel, and the looming consequences if it’s not addressed. I wonder if her fond memories of years ago included him, or someone else. Well done.
Blimey that was brill.
Thank you.
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Such quiet desperation so aptly expressed.