The Assist.
A quarrel of starlings fight noisily, over scraps, outside their window. Another microcosm of life; two worlds existing in parallel, yet neither is aware of the other exists.
“I’m dying,” he chokes, his body spasms.
I know, she thinks, tears welling in her eyes. Liquid emotions, puddling in her mind.
"What thoughts you harbour husband,” she smiles, disguising her anguish while hugging him close.
As one, the starlings take to the wing, at the instant of his passing; leaving behind an empty silent yard and an empty bittersweet heart.
She kisses his forehead, the taste is sour. Her cheeks moisten again as she pictures him smiling once more, in her mind's eye, no longer in pain.
She pictures their grave no flowers laid there, yet it’s easy to say goodbye.
Placing the still smoking barrel beneath her chin she depresses the trigger a second time…
The echoes die away, and for an instant there is silence. Then the starlings return.
Words 165
No comments:
Post a Comment
Thank you for your feedback, I'll contact if required.
Have fun!
Len