By Stella Klein
Through the letterbox, down the hall, a steamed-up kitchen window, a bubbling stove, the scent of stewed apricots, and the voice of Lou Reed, fruity, cynical, and longing.
They brushed cheeks at the door. The same boyish prettiness. The same pale blue eyes, and over one shoulder a baby: downy, wet-fisted, its bottom cradled in his loving, giant hand.
He led her into the front room, turned the music down, and offered her the fleeting intimacy of tea. She stood at the mantlepiece admiring the candles, shells, and soft toys, wishing that the beautiful woman in the silver frame were dead.
Good descriptive words and phrases. “fleeting intimacy of tea” captures the shortness of the visit, the imagined closeness.
“The brushed cheeks” goes along with the visit being short, light, no kissing of cheeks, but a mere brush.
Well done.
Adelaide
Thank you, Adelaide. The shortest story I’ve ever written!
A lovely painting using few brush strokes. Love it.
I am studying your word choices so I can glean how well you did this!
Thank you so much for this feedback.
This is one of the really good ones! Bravo.
I had to read this a couple of times. Then when I’d got the picture, I realised the jealousy and utter spite of the visitor. This was a really good read.