Saturday, January 23rd, 2010 at
7:44 pm
She sits there. All alone, yet not. She is accompanied by her memories. Her memories of him. And her. Together. For what she thought would be forever. But forever has to end sometime, right? So he left her. He ended their forever. He is gone–ripped from her world.
There a just two things residing in what used to be their living room: a small table with a rose resting upon it, withering away in a tall, slim vase filled to the brim with water, and a wooden chair with her placed precariously on the seat. The two were facing each other, facing off. She has her feet crossed, with her knees drawn into her, like a cage for her chest. She felt as though there were a huge, gaping hole in her chest, and that the bars her legs made would keep her from falling to pieces. She has her head in her knees. Her hands are sopping wet. Her vision is groggy.
He took her furniture. He left bare her left hand. Her left her. She couldn’t get over the fact that he left her. And he was never going to come back. He was gone forever. Never again would she see his face, lying and deceitful. Never. Then why should she get so upset about it?
As she replayed the scene of his departure, she grew angry. He has come home from work, like any other day, with her daily rose he handed her as he walked through the door, but that day, something was different. That day, he had a plan glistening in his eyes. She knew something was wrong, but before she could ask, he told her, “I’m leaving.” he handed her the papers in need of her signature, and he walked silently out of the door he had just come through. Within an hour, trucks has begun to arrive to haul away the furniture that they had worked so hard to purchase. She just stood there, in utter disbelief. Not a word came out of her mouth; not a tear came to her eye.
Thinking back on this, she grew angrier and angrier. She removed herself from the small wooden chair and threw herself at the rose. It had become a battle. A battle to end her grieving. A battle to prove to herself that she was strong. A battle to stop him from protruding into her thoughts and making her eyes water. She was done.
The tyrant ended in slow motion. The vase containing the rose stumbled solemnly, slowly, eventually, onto the barren floor.
The pieces of the shattered vase and the pieces of her shattered heart ended up in the recycling bin.
Well, obviously it’s sad and about an angry woman, but WHAT DO YOU THINK OF IT?!
Ok, so I wrote this in about an hour in my creative writing class. I had to get inspiration from four words. I can’t remember what the wrods were, though.
And I have my own way of writing. I use incomplete sentences to make a point.
And I’m sorrrryyy you have a mind that can’t follow a simple little story about a girl throwing a vase across the room…
That’s not at all my fault.
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