Friday, 24 June 2011

An Overexposed Photograph

The brightness tears at the edge of her eyesight, so brilliant white.  The promenade is like an overexposed photograph.  A warm, salty breeze catches her soft cotton dress, and whips it gently around her.  She walks slowly, carefully along the seafront.  Her body feels heavier than it should.

She remembers the turmoil, the argument, he was so angry; but her anguish is eased by the strange luminosity of her surroundings.  So still, so peaceful, so warm.

So warm.  She moves to lay down, right there on the concrete.  The sun soaked walkway stings her bare legs.

She feels heavy.

She tilts her head to the side, now resting on the floor, and is absorbed in the delicate light glittering off the sand grains which have been scattered up from the beach.  Perpetual movement of light, glistening all around her, twinkling in the summer sun.  Her eyes softly close, and she listens to the sea, the water rolling in over the beach, and out, in and out, she is breathing, breathing.


So much and so little time passes, just breathing.

She opens her eyes, painfully.  The room takes time to focus; the bare light bulb in the hallway flickers; she is crumpled at the base of the stairs.  Blood.  So much blood.

The front door is left open.  She knows he is gone, for the last time.

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