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Original writing short story - Mrs. -

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Introduction

Mrs. - Sunday 7th June 1998 She sat on the grave stone, waiting almost for that someone to take her home, white silk scarf floating behind her like thick white smoke. She didn't want to leave; this was the only place she had left. Ironic to find that a quite, decadent place such as a grave yard was the place she chose to escape her loneliness. "Please come back" she sobbed. She had no one left, life treated her like dust; nothing more than a nuisance and in great need of being cleaned up. "It's not fair, please... c-c-come back" once again sobbing uncontrollably. Passersby didn't even stop to look at her, immune perhaps, to such emotion.... Monday 1st June 1998 Cooking dinner, swiftly. Half past five is the time he normally gets in, but he's late. Again. She scans the clock once more, the sweet smell of roast chicken caressing the air with its succulent aroma. She wanted to surprise him; "A Beautiful dinner is just what he needs for a hard Monday day's work at the office" she thought. ...read more.

Middle

I'm sorry I am la..." "Don't you dare use that excuse on me! I know exactly what you were up to, and don't think I don't, you were you with that girl again! I know no you were. Now get in doors, right now!" Sitting at the table delicately eating this delight of a meal, through stabbingly awkward silence. She stood up and walked, frustrated, towards the kitchen. "Another bottle. Dear?" she sneered through gritted teeth, picking up the ready sharpened cord screw. "No dear, I'm fine. I had a bottle with the guys before I ca..." catching the smallest glimpse of the ferocity that was her face, he automatically retracted back his comment and apologised repeatedly. "Anything else you care to tell me, Brad" Although said politely, fury could easily be heard behind this false angel. Again a wave of apologies filled the room with no response or mercy. The only communication given to him was the persistence of eating. Quiet fills the room once more. Tension hanging in the air like a high wire act. ...read more.

Conclusion

"Get off!" She flinched. He was accustomed to this behaviour. He stood up and walked out of the room. "This is all my fault. Why can't I just be a good wife?" She sobbed once more. She heard rustling from outside, maybe it's a present. Or a surprise. Her state quickly changed once more to that of happiness and joy. Back to the door, she heard him enter the room again. The coldness of silence descended once more, the mood however not dampening the excitement within her. As footsteps gradually came towards her, anticipation grew more and ever more stronger with every tap, his heel connected to the floor. Her hands clenched and eyes squinted, rigid with excitement, until she could take no more, she had to know what it was. She just had to look. Footsteps stopped. Slowly revolving her head she caught a glimpse of her husband's face, cold and confused. She then noticed his arm outstretched clasping an object. "Turn around please" "What are you doing, Brad?" "I'm sorry dear"..... Sunday 7th June 1998 .....So there it stands, the cold, hard grave stone of where she is perched. Written on which states: BORN 23RD NOVEMBER 1996 DIED AGED 32 DIED A DEVOTED LOVER NAME UNKNOWN ...read more.

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