flash fiction
(peter will appreciate this)
I have a reading tonight at Infusion Tea in College Park @ 7pm, this may be read tonight, not sure...It's missing something, and i need help!
Because the guilt alone, wasn’t painful enough
It’s not that we ever forgot, or that we chose not to remember. It was the hopeless feeling that always brought us here.
I stood in the doorway of a broken château. What was once so beautiful was now weathered and decayed. The ivy on the stone cobble way was over grown and barely seen, while the treacherous thorns from the plant were slowly taking over the windows. This house we built together, had fallen apart from the inside out. I never knew what brought me here, or why you stood in the rubble of what once was our sitting room.
“Bonjour” I called out to you. You turned, your hands still in your pockets, while your face faded into an awkward surprise. Light poured through the patches of open glass, and on to the broken beam that lay by your feet.
“What are you doing here?”
“I, I just wanted to see this, one last time, before you sold it away.” My hand went to the fireplace, where a piece of broken glass still stuck to the sill.
“I’m going to miss this.” You said to me.
“Miss what?” I walked closer. The familiar stare broke my frustration. Like the glass on the sill, I felt like something was missing.
“I’ll miss…” you walked nearer, your face a little softer, your hand now on the edge of the fireplace, “what this all meant to me before--”
“Bonjour.” She called out to you from the same open doorway. You went to her and spoke to one another in a language I never understood, or maybe it was that I chose to never understand.
“Kit, you remember my wife.”
Your smile was smooth, yet your intentions were clear, and my heart was left ice-bound to something so far dead and overgrown, like the flower peaking through the open doorway.
Before, before my mistakes, before you moved on, and before her, this house touched me in such a way that it could never do again, no matter how many times I came to reconcile its memory.
So I stood in the doorway and said my final good-bye.
I have a reading tonight at Infusion Tea in College Park @ 7pm, this may be read tonight, not sure...It's missing something, and i need help!
Because the guilt alone, wasn’t painful enough
It’s not that we ever forgot, or that we chose not to remember. It was the hopeless feeling that always brought us here.
I stood in the doorway of a broken château. What was once so beautiful was now weathered and decayed. The ivy on the stone cobble way was over grown and barely seen, while the treacherous thorns from the plant were slowly taking over the windows. This house we built together, had fallen apart from the inside out. I never knew what brought me here, or why you stood in the rubble of what once was our sitting room.
“Bonjour” I called out to you. You turned, your hands still in your pockets, while your face faded into an awkward surprise. Light poured through the patches of open glass, and on to the broken beam that lay by your feet.
“What are you doing here?”
“I, I just wanted to see this, one last time, before you sold it away.” My hand went to the fireplace, where a piece of broken glass still stuck to the sill.
“I’m going to miss this.” You said to me.
“Miss what?” I walked closer. The familiar stare broke my frustration. Like the glass on the sill, I felt like something was missing.
“I’ll miss…” you walked nearer, your face a little softer, your hand now on the edge of the fireplace, “what this all meant to me before--”
“Bonjour.” She called out to you from the same open doorway. You went to her and spoke to one another in a language I never understood, or maybe it was that I chose to never understand.
“Kit, you remember my wife.”
Your smile was smooth, yet your intentions were clear, and my heart was left ice-bound to something so far dead and overgrown, like the flower peaking through the open doorway.
Before, before my mistakes, before you moved on, and before her, this house touched me in such a way that it could never do again, no matter how many times I came to reconcile its memory.
So I stood in the doorway and said my final good-bye.