cherrieygrl18
The swatches simply didn't fit the end result. This was, afterall, supposed to be a happy time in their lives. So, why couldn't she get in the spirit? She held the dull greens and grays to her belly, as if to show the growing bump the colors of the room she'd be occupying for the coming years. She held the colors up to the walls, again, and then sat them back on her belly as she slumped lazily into the delicate rocking chair. She muttered, then swore. Getting up, she peeked out through the slit in the blinds at the vibrant neighborhood she felt so isolated from. She felt dull. She felt plain. She felt ugly--and fat. She turned, almost violently, and ran down the stairs, grabbing her car keys and purse. Returning three hours later, she felt refreshed--renewed. She wore a dress and danced, painting the walls with the new yellow paint she'd recovered during her adventure. Stepping back, she felt satisfied, admiring the room and it's current occupants. Her husband would hate the color. And, she could smile at that.
The artwork on the wall presented itself swimmingly. The crashing waves rolled over the jaded, antique hell. Many a people had chosen that path--walking boldly to the edge, flinging oneself over it in a last, horrid attempt to end one's life. Although the oftentimes succeeded, not so often in the ways they had pictured such a glorious last choice. Too often, the rocky stakes didn't kill them instantly. Rather, a bloody and mysterious dance with the sea and the rocks as their jealous partners did; and, when they didn't bleed to death, they often drowned. Ah, yes--this glorious artwork. It made the cliffs of D'Amoir seem almost beautiful. But, I knew better. How could I not? For I had been sentenced to a life of retrieving those bodies.
Filtering through the papers and various household items of the relationship she formerly referred to as her marriage, she threw one item, one paper, after another in the garbage. Toss…throw…take another sip from her bottle of Raspberry Smirnoff…the tears rolling down her face…then, she lost it. Scattering the papers on the floor, she screamed at the ceiling, angry…upset…hurt…the tears poured down her face as she sank into the floor, shaking with sobs—a puddle of a woman in shambles. After what seemed like hours, she picked her limp, shattered body up off the floor. It was time to simplify. It was time to start over.
She held her breath as he held her close. The weight of the world-- like a ton of bricks--lifted off her pale, beautiful, paper thin shoulders. She was fragile. She was damaged. But, none of that mattered when she fell into his arms. The moonlight caressed her tear-stained cheeks, a wisp of hair falling gently across her lashes. She was safe here. She was broken, but so was he. And, she was safe--truly safe--from the man she once promised her life to. At that moment, the dam inside her broke. And, she sobbed. She sobbed for the pain. She sobbed for her loss. She sobbed for him. But, most of all, she sobbed a sense of freedom and hope. A sweet release from the hell she'd been in. And, for the heavenly arms that now held her. So close. So tightly. And, yet, so gentle. This could be love, had she anything left to give.
I wasn’t sure why this was happening. It had felt so right at the time. But, not? It felt so wrong. All the fights, all the late nights on the couch and crying myself to sleep. It all seemed so progressive…and, yet, so natural. Was she really going to take this path? What if they didn’t approve? What if he changed? What if this was just what it meant to be married? ‘No.’ She silenced the voices in her head, and spoke words of authority over such lies. This was the path she was taking, and it wasn’t their life. She would never truly believe he had changed, and this wasn’t a marriage. The silence screamed through the darkness, distracting her ever cloudy thoughts. She was better than this. She deserved better. She was better. Maybe those moments had to teach her something she wouldn’t have known otherwise. Maybe she was delusional. Maybe this was all a dream. But, she had to take the jump. Only one person was going to save her at this moment—only one person was going to walk away. And, that was herself.
It was her moment to come forth, speaking from her heart, as her mind raced with the possibilities. She didn’t know how or what to say, but she knew if she never said these things, he would be forever lost, and she would be the only one to blame. “Now,” she thought, “Just say it.” But, as she watched him turn and walk away into the drizzling night, she couldn’t find the words. She leaned against the building, sick to her stomach, knowing that would be the last time she would ever see him.
It seemed odd. The various items scattered about the house reminded her of a time machine. Walking through that monstrous door, she felt swallowed by the entryway. The vintage curtains blew in the wind, the windows mellowing that dusty, ancient smell. Walking from room to room she discovered another piece of that past life—an antique grandfather clock that needed winding, an outdated pair of shoes, and a library. The smell of old books was her favorite, and as she was drawn by the years of knowledge and stories buried in this back room, she felt at home. Touching the bindings, wiping the dust, reading the titles, she stared, each one a piece of history. She smiled, lighting the oil lamp that lie on the neatly organized desk arranged so eloquently in the corner. She didn’t know how long she had been here, but she knew she never wanted to leave.
She shuttered in awe of what she was about to experience. Watching the dust combine with the swirling air, it was but mere seconds before she would join them, forever swept away in this violent wonder. She tried to run, but felt her feet being pulled against the direction she wished to be heading. She panicked, fear sweeping her body. And, just before the magnificent force of nature took her, she smiled; she laughed. He knows now it was for him. She wanted that to be the last picture of her to remember. Walking by her casket, he couldn’t look. Not now. Not ever. That terrified smile was how she wished to be remembered. And, that was how he would honor her.
She could see the writing on the wall—all the signs were there. The secrecy, the carefully woven lies—all the deceitful words and dishonest actions—was it all a lie? Everything she knew was crashing in a matter of moments as she sat, listening the voluptuous voice on the other end of the line. How long? How often? When? Where? As the voice carried on melodically on the other end of the phone, each new found lie was another stab to her already broken heart. He had chosen her—that homewrecker—over herself, over the kids—over their family. And, that’s what hurt the most. How could she be so stupid? So, so stupid.
She wanted to start, but felt trapped—trapped by her mind, limited by her body—it all seemed so unreal. The booming speakers began their countdown, and with it, all those beside her shouted as the moment became more and more of a dream. “10…9…8…” Her heart began to race. “…7…6…5…” Her mind raced with the impossibilities of the task so close at hand. “…4…3…” The seconds dragged by, as she positioned herself at the start. “…2…1…” And, with that, she heard the starting gun go off. People whizzed by her, her body frozen in time. This was it—the moment of truth. The only thing that lay between her and the finish line was 26.2 miles, her lack of training, and the doubts in her mind. The moment of truth, and the only way to prove to herself, and all her fellow doubters, was to begin, stopping for nothing until she crossed that finish line. With that, she took the first step of her 52,096 step journey.
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writing since 2011 · 54 entries · 53 days shown up
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