The Goodbye
It was looking like the worst day of Anita’s life. “Things,” she said to herself as she reached for a fresh handkerchief, “will never be the same again.”
She could barely stand to watch him, as he walked slowly and uncertainly down the path. Don’t turn around. Don’t look back. It’s hard enough as it is, she thought, don’t make this even more difficult.
Four years. For four long years he’d been hers and hers alone. They had flown by in an instant. She remembered life at the beginning. Two hearts beating as one. Two souls, eager to learn about one another.
Deep down she’d thought it might not last. Hadn’t her friends warned her this day might come? “It’s inevitable,” they’d said. “You think it won’t affect you, but it always happens in the end.” She’d tried to ignore them. After all, what did they know? They were just jealous of what she had.
Anita’s focus returned to the path. Damn. He was looking back, an unspoken question on his face. The tears returned to her once more. Hot, salty, bitter. And she wondered. Does every woman feel like this, on her son’s first day at school?
Showing posts with label 200 words. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 200 words. Show all posts
Friday, 19 February 2010
Tuesday, 26 January 2010
200-word story #1
Endgame
It was gradual, but inevitable. Thirty years at the breakfast table. The dimples that had charmed him as a younger man repulsed him now. The lilt at the end of each question that she’d found fascinating three decades ago just grated with her these days.
They’d smile at each other. All was fine on the surface. But they cringed underneath. Underneath was a swirling mass of regret. Wasted years and missed opportunities. Moving from passion, through acceptance, to the long dark autumn of cold, quiet contempt.
He slurped his coffee for the millionth time. She no longer flinched these days. Anyway, today was different.
“More coffee dear?” she asked brightly. She filled his mug, offered wordlessly from behind the newspaper, from a fresh pot.
Slurp.
It would take seconds, she told herself. Relatively painless, too. No need to make a fuss. Her passport was upstairs, next to the bank book. A few seconds unpleasantness, then Rio was ready and waiting. She sipped her Earl Grey like it was a Mojito.
A cough. Chair legs scraped across the floor. Thud. Over.
Her smile froze as her own throat began to tighten. Her eyes bulged. Oh no. Surely not the tea?
It was gradual, but inevitable. Thirty years at the breakfast table. The dimples that had charmed him as a younger man repulsed him now. The lilt at the end of each question that she’d found fascinating three decades ago just grated with her these days.
They’d smile at each other. All was fine on the surface. But they cringed underneath. Underneath was a swirling mass of regret. Wasted years and missed opportunities. Moving from passion, through acceptance, to the long dark autumn of cold, quiet contempt.
He slurped his coffee for the millionth time. She no longer flinched these days. Anyway, today was different.
“More coffee dear?” she asked brightly. She filled his mug, offered wordlessly from behind the newspaper, from a fresh pot.
Slurp.
It would take seconds, she told herself. Relatively painless, too. No need to make a fuss. Her passport was upstairs, next to the bank book. A few seconds unpleasantness, then Rio was ready and waiting. She sipped her Earl Grey like it was a Mojito.
A cough. Chair legs scraped across the floor. Thud. Over.
Her smile froze as her own throat began to tighten. Her eyes bulged. Oh no. Surely not the tea?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
LinkWithin
