by Kitty Jakeman
The vase is broken, shards of blue glass sent skidding across the wooden floor. Water splashes and pools mixing with the glittering splinters. Flowers already dying, now sodden, are strewn around, one here, one there, a heap by the stone hearth. The floor is littered with debris from its assault.
After the crash, the terrible silence.
We both look at what she has done.
‘I’m sorry,’ she says in a barely audible gasp echoing my words when I gave her the flower gift.
But neither of us is really sorry, not now. We have gone beyond retribution and have become islands in a sea of destruction.
Her foot is bleeding. Black-red blood mixes with the cold water on the floor in searching fingers, growing longer, reaching out, blindly creeping towards me.
The instinct to protect takes over and I step to help, offering her comfort but she recoils. I stop, where I am allowing my socks to soak up the blood and water mixture. I think of times past when I have enveloped you in protective hugs. I suppress my urge to sob.
There is nothing more to say or so much that I don’t know where to begin. I can’t decide so I turn and step away from the mess peeling off my soaking socks as I go. I reach for my keys, slip into my waiting shoes and don’t look back. Silence follows me so I close the door.
4 comments:
Great evocation of a scene, the destruction and the silence that follows contrasting well.
I really like how you show the aftermath as the drama. Well done, Kitty.
Some great descriptions here and I love, 'There is nothing more to say or so much that I don’t know where to begin.' Well done.
Thank you very much for reading and commenting, much appreciated
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