La Pedrera...
She sat by the window that morning writing his will for him. His desk was empty of everything but some drawings. Angelique had taken the children to the market and the house seemed so peaceful. Light came shining through the crisp curtains as she realized it will become noon. She had to finish before he awakes. The package was still under the bed. She wipes a sweat drop on her forehead, flips the pages and walks around her study. The sound of her heels on the marble floor made her anxious. It was time. It was time, she kept repeating to herself when she heard a moan coming from his room. It was the third year they had slept in different rooms. The first year she told him that he needed his rest and that the smell of the drugs made her nauseous during her pregnancy. As the time went by he stopped asking.
She went through the hall towards his room to help him with his morning bath when she stopped. Her reflection in the mirror stopped her. The large mirror also reflected her apartment behind her. She looked so frail in her unpretentious eggshell house gown. Her face sank leaving no marks of youth or freshness. Her pale skin only contrasted with the darkness under her eyes almost dissolved under her fingers. He had always told her that she looked common and unappealing. The day he took her away she overheard him saying he was pleased by her young age but not very enchanted by her poise. She almost hesitated as she regressed back to her times of weakness but then she repeated to herself that it was time. It was the right time. She was a woman now and a mother and she had gained the right to control her destiny.
Her thoughts were interrupted again by a squeaking noise coming from his room. The less quiet he was, the more she felt a wave of disgust and pressure raging through her limbs revolting her body. It was time for him to die. She was determined to salvage what remained of her spirit. She had to make a better life for herself. She hated him when he was strong and she hated the way he controlled her and her life. She also despised herself for giving in. She despised the mother she was and the wife she was. She hated him when he turned weak. She hated the darkness he left her to face, the episodes, the secrets and the shame. She could not bear the loneliness any longer. She could not bear the lack of laughter and the lack of color in her life.
She went back to her room and reached for the package when she heard another noise coming across the house. This time it was a fall. She runs to his room and looks in his bed to find it empty. Then she saw spilled water coming from his wash room ...
She sat by the window that morning writing his will for him. His desk was empty of everything but some drawings. Angelique had taken the children to the market and the house seemed so peaceful. Light came shining through the crisp curtains as she realized it will become noon. She had to finish before he awakes. The package was still under the bed. She wipes a sweat drop on her forehead, flips the pages and walks around her study. The sound of her heels on the marble floor made her anxious. It was time. It was time, she kept repeating to herself when she heard a moan coming from his room. It was the third year they had slept in different rooms. The first year she told him that he needed his rest and that the smell of the drugs made her nauseous during her pregnancy. As the time went by he stopped asking.
She went through the hall towards his room to help him with his morning bath when she stopped. Her reflection in the mirror stopped her. The large mirror also reflected her apartment behind her. She looked so frail in her unpretentious eggshell house gown. Her face sank leaving no marks of youth or freshness. Her pale skin only contrasted with the darkness under her eyes almost dissolved under her fingers. He had always told her that she looked common and unappealing. The day he took her away she overheard him saying he was pleased by her young age but not very enchanted by her poise. She almost hesitated as she regressed back to her times of weakness but then she repeated to herself that it was time. It was the right time. She was a woman now and a mother and she had gained the right to control her destiny.
Her thoughts were interrupted again by a squeaking noise coming from his room. The less quiet he was, the more she felt a wave of disgust and pressure raging through her limbs revolting her body. It was time for him to die. She was determined to salvage what remained of her spirit. She had to make a better life for herself. She hated him when he was strong and she hated the way he controlled her and her life. She also despised herself for giving in. She despised the mother she was and the wife she was. She hated him when he turned weak. She hated the darkness he left her to face, the episodes, the secrets and the shame. She could not bear the loneliness any longer. She could not bear the lack of laughter and the lack of color in her life.
She went back to her room and reached for the package when she heard another noise coming across the house. This time it was a fall. She runs to his room and looks in his bed to find it empty. Then she saw spilled water coming from his wash room ...
6 comments:
nice home.. is this where you live?
btw what made you go from left aligned to justified text.. i have been considering the move for months but cant stand the idea of such lack of continuity hehe
this is La pedrera in barcelona
i used justified when i tell fiction mostly or in long posts to make it easier on the eye. i use orange titles for political posts mostly, so i am consistent, you just need to notice :)
and then?
the lack of colors.. and laughter... it is easy when we have someone to despise. don't you agree?
i dont mind being that person hehehe
the arch enemy - proud israeli
lirun
telaviv
www.emspeace.blogspot.com
:)
ps love being the darkhorse
better than despising ouselves. totally agree.
the rest to come..
mmmm, you opened up fresh, deep and painful wounds.
Beautiful post, very painful, very sad.
how do you do it? bravo ya benet.
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