And He answered and said unto them, "I tell you that, if these should hold their peace, the stones would immediately cry out."

Thursday, May 26, 2016

Sunday Scribblings 2 - Prompt 126 Despair

The Road Not Travelled

He walked out of the warehouse club with a case of bottled water, a large box of granola bars and a $1.50 hot dog with a Dr. Pepper with very little ice. His back hurt and his knees hurt: he was sweating and it was a spring day. 

Mike remembered when he was considered handsome. His hair was dark and thick and styled. He had a good job and wore nice clothes and smiled. He smiled a lot back then. 

The trunk door popped open and he pushed it slow that it would go faster; not that it would. Hydralics slowed everything down nowadays. Maybe that's what he should blame all this weight on-hydralics. The case of pop was heavy but pleasantly so. It felt good to hoist it open and throw it into the back. Just throwing, the momentum, the angry pleasure of swinging it back and releasing it made him feel human.  He didn't take a sip of pop until he had unloaded the cart and put it back in the corral. Even now, Mike could hear his mother prodding him to put it away. 

He took a bite out of his hot dog and set it on the seat. It was such a relief to be able to do that without the fear of retribution and nagging. Joanne lived in Indianapolis with her new husband and by all accounts she was having the time of her life. He was happy for her but even more happy to be released. All those years of trying and it was no use. He was never good enough. He never made enough money. That was not an issue with either of them now.

He left everything in the car and checked his messages when he got home. 

I'm sorry. We have filled the position. Please feel free to apply online at...

Great.  Because it's so easy to find a job these days. He had enough unemployment for a couple of months before things got really bad. That granola bar from the warehouse club was calling him and he answered. And finished his Dr. Pepper.

Garbage day was the next day so he went through the house collecting bags. The kids would be back from school but he just didn't want to argue or wait. They wouldn't do it. Maybe it was the age, but Mike thought of his parents and what he did automatically when he was their age. The hips were bothering him as he ascended the stairs from the basement.

The sun filtered through the trees in his backyard as he walked to the back fence. The silence screamed during the day because no one was home anymore. Only those who had very small children and those who were the losers. The unemployed. The overweight and unemployed. The middle aged, overweight and unemployed.

Maybe it was opening the lock to get to the alley. Maybe it was dumping the garbage and leaving it there. Maybe it was locking the gate again. When he looked up, he saw the house. The house where he raised his kids. The house where he had a family and a wife. A house that has a family who is growing wings and leaving. And then he just saw a house. 

Mike didn't have to go back if he didn't want to. That old life was gone and it would be so easy to let despair submerge him in self pity and loathing. The house may have looked the same but all was changed. He squared his shoulders. He was alone and lonely. If that was the it was to be, so be it. In the meantime, his gym bag was in the car and his ipod was charged. The treadmill road was going nowhere fast but it was a different road than he had taken. 

And it was still better than the one before.~

For more creative stories visit Sunday Scribblings 2.

Friday, October 9, 2015

Sunday Scribblings 2 - Prompt 93

Lavender and Roses
A Point of View Exercise

"If Maniba doesn't come soon, we are leaving. It's cool day and I want to play soccer." Anup drew a picture of a soccer ball in the dirt with his bare foot.

"How is your left foot?" asked Roknir. He pet the head of a friendly dog. Its long, curved tail wagged a moment before it trot off and relieved itself just a few feet from them.

"It's sore. I kicked it the wrong way. You're supposed to kick with the side of your foot but I used my big toe. It'll be ok. I'll walk it off." Anup bobbed his head. "Look who's coming."

Roknir looked up to see the man coming towards them from the center of the market street. He had a cigarette hanging out of his mouth and he was talking on his cell phone. He looked angry but then he always looked angry. When he saw Rocknir, he lifted his head in a greeting and pulled something out of his shirt pocket. He kicked at the dog and swore about the mess it had made.

"Here, Khrīṣṭāna, you're one of the People of the Book, I saw this and I thought you would like it." Maniba laughed as he handed him the little book. "Yeah, I gave it to him. I know." Maniba looked at him with a mixture of amusement and contempt.

"It is an English book. What is it called? I cannot read."

"It's called The Story of Peter um, kharagōsa, the hare. I got it for free from one of my vendors. They found it when they were throwing things away at the library." Maniba thew his head back and laughed. "It's a baby book. But it's university level for someone like you."

Roknir did not take the man's words to heart. Not this time. The cover was green and sculpted. Maniba told them where he wanted the boys to go and what time they were expected. Roknir only half listened. He saw that Anup was chewing something, maybe gum, maybe tobacco. He did not care today. He had his own book. He looked through the pages slowly. Each picture was more beautiful than the next.

Maniba grabbed it out of his hand and showed Anup. "Look at the baby book, little hotshot. Look at the baby pictures." The man thumped through the pages himself. "I want you boys to get this wood to Cook right away. And listen to me, both of you."

Maniba dropped Roknir's book on the ground before he grabbed both boys by the tops of their shirts. Roknir strained to reach for his prize.

"You listen to me. You stay on the main road. It may take you a little longer but it's safer. Do you hear me? I know you, little hotshot. Stay off the tracks. It's too dangerous and I have a big job for you in a couple of days. I'll pay you well. You are saving up for your families. Well, you better keep yourselves safe. What will they do without you?" He practically threw them to the ground.

Roknir scrambled to get his book before it got any dirtier. Relief washed over him when he saw that only the cover was dirty. He thanked something nameless, maybe God. He hid it in his side pocket. He crouched down and put the strap around his head. He threaded his arms through the other straps and stood. The load was no heavier or lighter than the days before.

Maniba and Anup argued about time and money like they ever did so Roknir started ahead.

"Roknir. Stay off the tracks, do you hear me? In two days, you have a big job." Maniba sounded angry as usual. They would save hours on the tracks. They were older now. They would be careful.


Rocknir was so lost in thought that he did not notice Anup had gone ahead of him. Rocknir was older and this seemed to be disrespectful. Today, though, it did not matter. He had book and English. His own book with beautiful pictures. The forest was peaceful to him. There were no people or crowds. No smelly market or dogs relieving themselves. He could hear the birds and in the distance the sound of a migration. He liked to go see them at a small swamp near his village. The frogs sang and more than that, it was quiet, other than their steps on the gravel between the railroad ties.

"We need to go straight to the village, Roknir. No stopping for anything." Anup's voice sounded far away when Roknir saw the flower.He had seen flowers just like it in books his grandfather had at his house. They were from their area. They were from far away.

One flower turned into many and then to a pathway. And golden sunlight past the canopy of banyans. The path was swept clean and neat with no weeds in between. The flowers bloomed pink and bluish to a cheery house, unlike any in his village or even the larger town. The door was framed in a pretty blue shutter which welcomed him home.

Without thinking, he crouched down and set the basket on the ground. Time seemed to slow as he ran his fingers through his hair. He caught his breath as the door opened. A lovely woman with long, yellow hair smiled kindly as she stepped into view. She waved at Roknir and held out her hand.

"One more mile, Roknir. It will be a short day but we will get paid for a full day." Anup's voice sounded distant, as if underwater.

The woman walked towards him, her lovely, clean white gown flowing behind her.

"What are you doing? Let's go." Anup's voice was closer, it seemed but muffled. "Roknir."

He could not speak. He could barely breath. The beauty was almost too much.

"I'm coming. So beautiful." But the words were softer than a whisper.

"Roknir. Roknir, wake up."

Rocknir felt his companion shake his arm but it did not matter. He turned to Anup but he seemed hazy, as if surrounded in a fog.

"The house. Do you not see it? So beautiful. Out of a story book. Like in the old library. English books. The house has a thatched roof. There is a path lined with pink and blue--no, it is lavender. The English use lavender. I think the flowers near the window are roses. Anup, do you not see it?" Roknir looked back and struggled with the words to tell him.. "It's so beautiful."

"Roknir, we must leave. I want to play soccer. With the extra money we can treat ourselves to an RC Lemon at the market. They have them cold. Maybe you are thirsty. There is no house. I see no house, Roknir. Please, let us go."

"She is coming out the front door. She's so beautiful, Anup. Long, yellow hair--" Roknir watched as the woman picked a purple flower. She smelled it, smiled and offered it out to him.

"Roknir, we are leaving now." Anup sounded so frightened.

"She calls me, Anup. I want to go. It's so beautiful. She is so kind." Roknir smiled and held out his arm as far as he could. The white sleeve on his sweater pulled up his thin arm. "She wants me to take the lavender. It smells so good. Anup."

Roknir's eyes filled with tears. He wanted to go to her more than anything. More than thirst and pain and sorrow and love. He leaned in to step when he saw her face clearly.  Her blue eyes were rimmed in yellow filth.The mouth turned black and dripped in oily death, even as it smiled and beckoned him to come.

"Her mouth. She is smiling. No. We must run. But the flowers, so beautiful, like a fairy tale." Roknir reached farther and leaned to take another step. Anup grabbed him and pulled him back.  The woman dropped the flower in front of them. Oily death dripped from her mouth. Her hand reached to grab him and dissolved into mist. Just beyond them, on the edge of a rail tie, a purple flower lay on the ground neatly cut. A moment later, a black oily drop fell on its thin, green stem.

Anup slapped him in the face. Roknir touched his face where he had been hit, as if he were wakened from a dream.

"Let us go, Anup. I am thirsty." A tear dropped from Roknir's eye and splashed on his cheek as he walked up the track. He stumbled a little but soon found the rhythm of walking a rail.

Copyright 2015
All Rights Reserved

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Thursday, October 8, 2015

Sunday Scribblings 2 - Prompt 92

This remarkable picture was taken by Steven McCurry.
I do not own any rights to it and will remove it promptly if  I need to.
Here is the link to his blog..

One Mile

Anup could say that it was not a bad day. The weather was cool and the ground under his bare feet was also cool and damp. He gripped the back of his basket of wood and walked along the tracks.

"One more mile, Roknir. It will be a short day but we will get paid for a full day." Anup stepped on a wide tie with one foot and stony gravel laced with weeds with the other. One foot in front of the other in an even rhythm. He did not hear his friend behind him. With an impatient sigh, he turned back to see his friend staring at the woods beside him.

"What are you doing? Let's go." Anup stood and so did Roknir. With a curse under his breath, he dropped the basket to the ground and walked beside his friend. Friend might not be the right word. Co-worker? Companion? Comrade? Perhaps, comrade was a better description.


His friend stared into the trees. Anup looked at his eyes and then tried to see what he saw. He saw nothing. The sounds of the insects and the birds and monkeys and other creatures were still noisy around them. He listened for a snap of a twig or a scrap of brush in the windless distance. He looked behind him and saw more forest, only the trees were a little closer to the tracks. He saw no trains in the distance and heard no whistle or bell from either way.

Roknir reached out his hand. Anup stood close to him to see if he could hear the boy say anything. All he could hear was his friend's shallow breathing and mumbling.

"Roknir. Roknir, wake up." Anup shook his arm a little hard. Only one mile to go and they would have the rest of the day free. Rocknir turned to Anup with a confused face.

"The house. Do you not see it? So beautiful. Out of a story book. Like in the old library. English books. The house has a thatched roof. There is a path lined with pink and blue--no, it is lavender. The English use lavender. I think the flowers near the window are roses. Anup, do you not see it?" Roknir looked back. "It's so beautiful."

"Roknir, we must leave. I want to play soccer. With the extra money we can treat ourselves to an RC Lemon at the market. They have them cold. Maybe you are thirsty. There is no house. I see no house, Roknir. Please, let us go."

"She is coming out the front door. She's so beautiful, Anup. Long, blonde hair--"

"Roknir, we are leaving now." Anup felt the blood rush from his hands and feet. Fear beaded up under his woolen cap. He pulled earnestly at Roknir, who would not budge.

"She calls me, Anup. I want to go. It's so beautiful. She is so kind." Roknir smiled and held out his arm. The white sleeve on his sweater pulled up his thin arm. "She wants me to take the lavender. It smells so good. Anup."

Roknir's eyes filled with tears. Anup strained to see something, anything but all he could see longan trees and their corpses replaced with vampire banyans. He looked up and saw the sky, but no birds. And no sounds except their own shallow breathing.

"Her mouth. She is smiling. No. We must run. But the flowers, so beautiful, like a fairy tale." Roknir reached farther and leaned to take a step. Anup grabbed him and pulled him back. The boy gasped and looked on the ground.

Just beyond them, on the edge of a rail tie, a purple flower lay on the ground neatly cut. A moment later, a black oily drop fell on its thin, green stem.

Anup slapped his friend in the face. Roknir touched his face where he had been hit, as if he were wakened from a dream.

"Let us go, Anup. I am thirsty." A tear dropped from Roknir's eye and splashed on his cheek as he walked up the track. He stumbled a little but soon found the rhythm of walking a rail.

Anup ran to his basket and hoisted it on his back. It was a burden of wood and kindling but on the mile home, he walked hard and quick as if carried by the wind.

Copyright 2015
All Rights Reserved

For more creative stories, visit Sunday Scribblings 2.

Monday, September 14, 2015

Sunday Scribblings 2 - Prompt 89

Waiting for 53A North

In late summer and early fall, grit would sting the skin and hurt the eyes because the rains had not restarted. The advantage was the dry air was comfortable in the night air. The disadvantage was the gray and the beige blowing dusty clouds in the street. Smoke from the generators covered the rest of the blocks in monotony. Still, better than the black speckles of mold on most exposed surfaces come autumnal solstice. And no one remembered green on the outside; plants were relegated to indoor shopping centers and the Fabulous Tower Center in the city where the wealthy lived in health.

Prynne trudged the hardened ground, careful to avoid the rubble on either side. Rats lived there and would be hungry until the water came. Her boots went high to her knees but she covered them with her wide pants and tied them at the bottom. It was more protection from the rats and the roaches which scavenged on the floor of the transport. Her daughter was lucky to have leggings handed down from a neighbor's cousin. They were tough but light weight and they were long enough to stuff into her brother's old boots. Prynne worried about the holes in the soles but some cardboard and a lot of duct tape would be enough protection for the time being.

"Mama, I'm thirsty." Pearl covered her mouth with her scarf and turned her face against the wind.

"Watch your step and stay on the sidewalk. You don't want to upset those rocks. Who knows what's watching us." Prynne stumbled and caught her step with the broad sword xw. The smithy at the mall would sharpen the tip when she got there but it bothered her that she used it for something other than defense.

"Mrs. Buchanan put out her pretty flower pots. See, Mama? They're dark blue and black on the top. They're pretty but not as pretty as those red ones from last year. I liked those. It made her house look cheerful. Mama, a rat, right there."

Prynne whirled around and used the blade to hurl a small stone at a snout and whisker. The animal glared red eyes and scampered back in the shadow of broken cement shards.

"Nice shot." The girl adjusted her cap. "Mama?"

"Yes, Pearl."

"Can we get something to drink when we get to the smithy? I'm so thirsty."

"Pearl, let's concentrate on getting to the stop. I don't want the transport to miss us. Watch your step there."

"The transport is always late and we are always early." Pearl stopped as a particularly strong gust threatened to knock her over. Her mother grabbed her hand and held her steady.

"Better that than missing our ride altogether. That would be bad for us today." Prynne looked at the sky. The main sun was almost overhead. "Second sun is ready to rise so the transport will be here shortly."

They stopped roadside across from the area generator. Gray and white plumes tugged from several side. Two workers stood by a metal barrel and seemed to struggle to open the cover. Once they pried and twisted it off, they pushed the barrel over. Liquid rushed out in a black wave on the parched dirt. They looked at Prynne and Pearl in a quiet, windless pause.

"I wonder what that--"

"Hush, child. Lower your voice," Prynne hissed. "We want no trouble today. Remember we talked about this?" She looked at her daughter and stood straight with a firm hand on the grip of her sword. The metal lid clanged on the barrel as they carried it all away, the liquid still shining in the sun.

The wind pause made Prynne even more alert. Every creak of metal, every crumble of rock and stone, every scamper and hidden squeak could be heard all around. She could make out hushed conversations from the tent block a quarter mile away. Pearl squeezed her hand and looked straight, just like she had been told.

To look around was to show fear. To look straight and listen with all your heart was bushido

As the wind pause ended when second sun rose to the south and east. Wind gusts muffled the sound of the transport, which grew louder behind them. It was harder to listen in the wind but also safer to talk.

"I brought the coins that I have saved, Mama." Pearl loosened her grip.

"What will you buy for yourself, child?" Prynne checked the strap of her coat as her hood blew in the air.

"Colored chalk. I would like to have coins for beautiful pottery like the Buchanans, but that's ok. The cluster gangs come and break them anyway so they don't last. But colored chalk would work. I will draw on the slab in back of our tent. It's flattened and wide and only a little taller than you, Mama. I'll draw and it will rain and I will draw something else. I remember the stories about rainbows so I know that there are other outside colors. Just not here. I would like to see other colors outside, Mama. It'll be pretty." Pearl looked up at her mother. Prynne could tell by the shape of her eyes that she was smiling.

The transport turned around in front of them. Steam spewed out of the tail pipes and the door opened. The cyborg driver turned its head and made a garbled speech about welcoming them aboard 53A North to the city.

"Come along, little artist. We will get your chalk after we stop at the water cafe."

Pearl let go of her mother's hand to grab the handle bars. The steps were large and steep. She stomped on a roach with a sigh of triumph. Prynne dropped her tokens in the fare box before the transport doors closed behind them.

Copyright 2015 by C. Deanne
All Rights Reserved

For more creative stories, please visit Sunday Scribblings 2.
This beautiful watercolor print was created by ThaiThanh. Please reward yourself
and visit his online portfolio here. I found his work imaginative and inspiring.

Tuesday, June 9, 2015

Prompted to Write 4/27/15

foliis intraverunt duo folia

She hated to have to use it but Avon Bug Guard worked and with no Deet, she could crash in her tent at the end of the day without worrying. The last thing Mary wanted to do was to wash off bug spray, get under mosquito netting and worry about getting eaten alive by the little flying friends that were in there with her.

The waterproof boots were indeed not waterproof. Perhaps they were water resistant but her socks were soggy every single morning. A mile in soggy socks should seem trivial but for once she just wanted one dry spot on her body. What a luxury that would be. Next time should would not skimp on her supplies.

Q'pxit motioned at pointed up without a sound. She took her binoculars and looked up the canopy. She shook her head. He understood, a little frustrated, but he looked around. He pulled several leaves together to show her:

Two short leaves
2 long leaves
attached to a stick

A stick. Maybe he meant a branch. Q'pxit pointed again to the large branch above them. There were long nets of fig vines, draped lazily above them. She wiped her sweaty hands and used the binoculars again. It took her a moment but there it was, towards the trunk, on the right, just attached to the vines. Her breath caught in her throat as she found her camera. She wiped her hands again, this time from adenalin. She aimed her camera, searching frantically for the plant, when her phone went off.

She recognized her daughter's cell phone id. She hadn't heard from her in months.

"Hello? Jenna?" There was a pause. "Yes? What? What's wrong?"

Mary listened for a few moments then hung up the phone. She took a deep breath and took up her camera again. Q'pxit touched her shoulder and urged her to come his way. She cocked her head, not knowing what he meant. When she pointed her camera back up to the canopy, the jaguar leisurely lay on the branch, near the trunk. Its tail flipped once before it lay down its head.

The team never knew what happened. The next morning she was gone. The villagers said they saw her early, near dawn. It did not make sense because she left everything. All they knew was that one of their boats was gone and that she left no note. It would be up to Burly to find the plant to cure breast cancer.


Mary paid the cab and walked up to her back door. She knocked because she had left her key with her things in a South American jungle.

"Mom? What are you doing home?" Jenna opened the door and walked up the back steps to the kitchen. There were dirty dishes every where, the floor hadn't been cleaned in months and the dog's ribs were showing.

"You were crying. You said it was important." Mary looked down at the overflowing recycling bin. Was that paper from a month ago?

"Oh. Yeah. I'm sorry about that. But since you're here, can you give me some money? I need to go downtown to an audition."

"I haven't seen you in months. I haven't had a decent shower since I left." Mary took out her passport from her shirt and dropped it on the table.

"I know. But this is the last day of auditions."

"Jenna." Anger welled up from her the bottom of her soggy socks. "It took me hours to get out of the jungle. I waited a couple of days to get a plane to take me to Bolivia and then I flew hours to get here. And you are worried about your audition?"

"Well, yeah. It's important."

Copyright 2015
by C. Deanne
All Rights Reserved

Monday, June 8, 2015

Sunday Scribbling 2 # 75

Thirty Two Minutes to Washtenaw


That meant she had forty two minutes until 3 o'clock, which meant she had thirty two minutes to get to Washtenaw Avenue across from the school. There was no time to lose because she had to go to the orthodontist, then home for dinner and some homework, then Cub Scouts.

It was nice that her youngest, a preschooler, was potty trained and now in preschool. That meant she had a whole glorious two and a half hours all to herself, which meant by herself. Today she spoiled herself. She would not dare tell her mother-in-law who looked down her nose on her messy house.

"When the kids sleep, you clean."

Today, when the kids were in school, she took a nap.

She had a few minutes before she had to strap rockets on her roller skates and plunge into the third part of her day. Normally she went to the thrift store for clothes. It was a Tuesday, which was blue ticket day, so all blue ticket items were half off. She did not have long to wade through the racks of shirt or the racks of jeans. She had already wasted five precious minutes looking down her nose at the used shoes. There were some things that were not worth it.

The store was large and the floors were dirty gray white. She wondered how hard it would be to clean them so that they looked decent. Then she looked around at the people in the check out line. Then she looked down on her well worn gym shoes. Maybe the floor was decent enough.

Not that she needed anything but something always drew her to the back of the store to the rickrack section. Once she found depression glass but suspected that it was a later piece made in the '50s. It did not matter because it was all about the hunt. She looked closely and trained herself to find the gold in the old.

Instead, she saw a lot of nothing. Coffee mugs from various businesses. Fluted champagne glasses from Prom 1984; people would have a stroke if students were given that nowadays. A Corning Ware lid. A chipped orange pyrex. Small plates of various patterns and manufacturers. Crazed, antique stoneware that had no use in her home. None of these breakable had any practical use in her home, save the Corning Ware lid, which she took. She looked at the ceramic vases, the old glass vases from the 1980s, a couple of etched drinking glasses from Eureka Plastics 1993 Anniversary, with balloons and confetti swirled around the middle.

She felt especially bad when she saw the mugs, the plates and the glass ware from businesses. How many were still around? Who was careful to pick them out and order them? Who took theirs home, had them on a shelf somewhere and then gave it to Salvation Army to repurpose? How do you repurpose something like that? It was already marked.

Maybe that was it. The purpose was clear. It was meant for a specific time or a specific place and labeled for everyone to see. She opened her purse to fish around for her cell phone. She pushed through her wallet, a receipt from the grocery store, a bag of emergency crayons, a pen cap and finally her phone. She had 15 minutes and her cell phone battery was on 10%.

There was a time when that phone was charged, the calendar was used and synced with other co-workers. There was a time when she combed her hair, took a shower every morning, wore nice clothes that looked nice on her. There was a time when she went out after work, not for drinks, but for a leisurely cup. A quiet moment all to herself before she had to rush to the train.

As she turned the corner to head to the register, she saw them. Paisley. Roses. Delicate handles with a little chip in the porcelain. Saucers mismatched. Tomorrow after school there were no appointments, no softball practice, no dance practice and no train. Tomorrow she would put on the kettle and serve a leisurely cup. A quiet moment with little hands who would see pretty teacups and no chips at all.

Copyright 2015
by C. Deanne
All Rights Reserved

Sunday, May 31, 2015

Magpie Tales # 272

Photo by Toni Frissell

With My Final Breath

I stood for what seems hours, alone in our bedroom. The afternoon sun grazed my foot, then my toes, and disappeared across the floor towards dusk. I did not notice and only remembered it when I stepped into the water. I forgot to turn off my alarm. It will go off at 5:45am, just as it does every morning. Not that it will matter. No one will be there to turn it off.

I changed into my night gown. I had to remove the tags. I bought it for a little change of pace. For months I had been using a practical pair of pajamas and was warm and cozy. Jack lay next to me then. All was right with the world.

Our anniversary is on Tuesday. The steaks are in the refrigerator and they weren't cheap. It's a shame that they will rot. They will not be used. They will be be neglected. Only I know that they are even there. It was supposed to be a surprise. I'm leaving you. I don't love you anymore.


You would think that there is silence when you do not talk, when you do not hear another human being saying anything to you because there are no other human beings around you. Television and the internet do not count. They are merely numbers, 00 and 01, sequential and unfeeling. The new Kitchen Maid oven and your friend's sister's pictures of their graduation are not human beings. It's news or sales, not a hug or hand to hold.

I could hear my foot steps on the bare floor. And the breeze as I walked past the door to our bedroom. No. My bedroom. I made sure the burners were off. The faucet was shut. The refrigerator doors were closed. I liked that refrigerator. It was stainless steel. Just the one I wanted. I did not bother to lock the sliding doors to the deck. I did close them, though. I wouldn't want the sand to blow into the house. The wind was still for nightfall tonight. It only whispered through my hair instead of blowing heartily and happy as a sailor at sea. Even this betrayed me.

Our neighbors were not out. It was just another sign that I could walk to the shore line unencumbered by questions or voices. The sea greeted me with loving plashes and the foaming comforts of the waves, rushing in and out in a reliable rhythm. She didn't let me down; the ocean was still my friend.

I waded in. The water was still warm from a sunny day that held such promise. I lay myself down and the waters shut out the noise of the surf. Gently, tenderly, I felt embraced as I floated. The sky was not set. The waves were not yet harsh.

I breathed the cloudless blue sky and let my arms float to my side . They sunk down but there was no safety net, no rocks to clutch: only the bottomless water of the unknown. Like our first moments of marital promise, I floated towards a new beginning and left the old life behind.

From this day forward, Jack. In sickness and in health. I will love you always. With my final breath.

Copyright 2015
By C. Deanne
All Rights Reserved

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