I Like Creative Writing
[u]Why?[/u]
As the clock struck ten, I saw her. Junoesque in stature with bright auburn hair, her elegance radiating as she crossed the cobblestones, glancing behind her as she walked. The moon was full that night; an orb shrouded by its duvet of darkness.
In the shadows I lurked, curious to see what she looked like; curious to know why she had done it. But I had to be patient and for now, my view from the sidelines would have to suffice.
I had imagined her younger somehow. In my mind’s eye her face should be youthful, not bearing the furrowed stripes of time and for some strange reason, it slightly moved me to witness her vulnerability. Blinking rapidly, I began my journey across the market square, hardly daring to breathe as I came face to face with her. I stopped.
The note had been delivered to her earlier that week and curiosity had ensured that she had not ignored it. With a location, time and a signed name that she had not recognised, she had hoped it would be who she thought it would be…….and it was.
“Why?” I asked, my face searching hers for the answer, “Why did you give me away?”
“I’m sorry,” she replied, the sorrow evident in her eyes, “I had no choice.”
The voice inside my head told me otherwise. The same voice that had given me comfort through the years of abandonment, the same voice that encouraged my outbursts of anger.
Reaching in to my pocket, I felt the cold metal handle of the knife react to the heat of my hand and as I plunged it in to my mother’s chest she offered no fight, as if she had known what was coming.
“Why?” she whispered, the last air being expelled from her lungs.
“I had no choice,” I replied and smiled.
©penny noodles
As the clock struck ten, I saw her. Junoesque in stature with bright auburn hair, her elegance radiating as she crossed the cobblestones, glancing behind her as she walked. The moon was full that night; an orb shrouded by its duvet of darkness.
In the shadows I lurked, curious to see what she looked like; curious to know why she had done it. But I had to be patient and for now, my view from the sidelines would have to suffice.
I had imagined her younger somehow. In my mind’s eye her face should be youthful, not bearing the furrowed stripes of time and for some strange reason, it slightly moved me to witness her vulnerability. Blinking rapidly, I began my journey across the market square, hardly daring to breathe as I came face to face with her. I stopped.
The note had been delivered to her earlier that week and curiosity had ensured that she had not ignored it. With a location, time and a signed name that she had not recognised, she had hoped it would be who she thought it would be…….and it was.
“Why?” I asked, my face searching hers for the answer, “Why did you give me away?”
“I’m sorry,” she replied, the sorrow evident in her eyes, “I had no choice.”
The voice inside my head told me otherwise. The same voice that had given me comfort through the years of abandonment, the same voice that encouraged my outbursts of anger.
Reaching in to my pocket, I felt the cold metal handle of the knife react to the heat of my hand and as I plunged it in to my mother’s chest she offered no fight, as if she had known what was coming.
“Why?” she whispered, the last air being expelled from her lungs.
“I had no choice,” I replied and smiled.
©penny noodles
56-60, F
