After a long silence I have finally managed to write - and finish - a little piece of fiction again. This is my entry for the Silent Grey short fiction contest run by Jason Evans over at The Clarity of Night. As instructed, the story below was inspired by this photo, by Jess Taylor, his artistically gifted niece:
A glass squeaked under her raisin fingertips and she realised she'd been washing it long enough for the dishwater to grow tepid. Reality oozed back in focus, the dirty grey wall across the yard replacing the glittering ocean of her daydream.
A creak behind her warned of Vince's approach and she hurried to finish the dishes. Grunting good morning, he disappeared behind the newspaper.
"Toast's almost ready," she forced a smile as she set his tea down in front of him. The effort was wasted - not even a grunt now.
When only crumbs remained at the table and the slam of the front door told her he was gone, she stared through the window once again. Seventeen years she'd been staring at that wall, although for some time now she had barely seen it, for it had morphed into a canvas on which she painted her fantasies.
Turning from the window she checked her handbag. Savings book, train ticket, passport - all there. Moving into the hall, she pulled a bulging suitcase from the closet, a piece of yesterday's conversation replaying in her head.
"We're looking forward to meeting you too, Susan. Your room is ready and waiting for you. I know it's hard, losing your husband, but I'm sure in time you'll be happy here. The sun always shines and the rest of the staff are so friendly.
Oh, and did I mention your room has a view of the ocean?"
Gravel crunches underfoot, a dry breeze stirs dust. She sneezes, the sound disappearing into the emptiness around her. A ghostly moon attempts to break cloud but fails and a wry laugh escapes her lips. Any other time the silent darkness would frighten her.
Tonight it is her friend.
An owl on the roadside illuminates in a lone, determined moonbeam. They watch each other for a moment before the light is doused. He flaps away and she follows his arc back the way she has come. The lights of her hometown catch her gaze, barely a glow on the horizon. A glimmer of memories, her life as it was supposed to be. First love, then marriage, then the baby carriage. Her road mapped out, her dream realized. But her dream has become a nightmare instead.
Turning away from the road she has known she starts walking again, following a new path. It is uncharted territory but her steps are certain.
A car pulls up.
She is not afraid. She knows it isn’t him.
He doesn’t believe she would wander this far from her life, her prison.
“Need a ride?”
“Sure, thanks.”
She slides into a squeaky leather seat.
“Where you headed?” the stranger wants to know.
She points ahead and the woman nods. Words are unnecessary; the swollen eye and bruised lips say enough. The moon finally breaks through as they head off down the midnight road, the world awash with silvery moonlight and new possibilities.
Jason Evans is running a short fiction contest. Check out the link before you read this, because the story is based around the picture he posted.
Since I love a challenge, this is the entry I sent in:
Two Lamps
The house is so quiet now, Dear. The glow from those two old lamps we bought at the flea market so many years ago is the only light here. Do you remember the woman who sold us those lamps? You felt compelled to buy something from her stand. Her patched frock and worn shoes somehow betrayed the aristocratic gentleness of her manner. We paid more than the lamps were worth and then wandered arm in arm along the pier in the sunshine, telling each other her story. You said she was a widow whose husband had lost all in the crash of '29, before she lost him. You loved to think up these tragic, romantic stories about strangers.
We were so young then, and so in love.
Now I am the widow. What story will they make up about me? The sad, rich woman who lives alone in the big house on the hill…
Tomorrow our home will be filled with people. The children are coming, and the grandchildren. Maude will bring a quiche, bless her heart.
But tonight nothing stirs. I have only my memories for company. The dark rooms echo with traces of you. The smell of your pipe tobacco lingers with the last scent of your aftershave, but I fear that, too, will soon be gone.
Shaking herself out of her thoughts, the old woman turned off the lamps and creaked slowly upstairs, to bed.
I will see you again soon, my love.
