By C.W. Bryan
The leak started a few hours after we fell asleep. Martha never hears anything above her incessant snoring, but it woke me up. It was so persistent. Drip. Drip. Drip. It hit the hotel carpet with an imperative hollowness.
I swung out of bed and grabbed the coffee pot off the counter. I opened the lid and slid it beneath the leak. The water hit the glass with an echoing hollowness.
Martha took a nasty inhale. It struck me that no vacation could save us—no couples massage, no sunset cruise. The water dripped. My chest ached with a resounding hollowness.
Well done!
Nice use of a metaphor to show a leaking marriage.
agree with Bonnie. That’s what I wanted to say
When I lived in my uni apartment a pipe burst on the floor above us and it inevitably forced me to sleep with three buckets around my room to collect all the water.
The feelings of frustration, powerless and defeat are brilliant applied to the realization that marriage is beyond salvation.