Theme: Angst. Violence.
Rating: PG. (Violence? Sicko-ness?)
Although it wasn’t raining, the woman walked along the pavement, poncho donned, umbrella high up, not noticing she wasn’t getting wet, not noticing that she was right in the middle of a road, and most importantly, not noticing that people were staring at her.
Life was meaningless really. He had died, and with him, her heart. What was there left to fear? Cars whizzed right past her, drivers shouted profanities that would have made a hardened criminal blush. She tuned it out.
In her mind, everybody was laughing. Everybody was happy, and nothing, absolutely nothing was suffering. It was unfair. Why should she be the only one suffering? Why were there – she shuddered - happy people? They were just painful reminders of how she used to be, and how she could be, if only he was alive...
Faster and faster she walked until something caught her eye. A child. Dressed in a simple cotton dress, the child’s skin was a pale translucent white. Her dark hair was combed elaborately with a colourful butterfly pin fastening a stray lock in place. Simple white Mary Jane’s adorned her feet and in her tiny hands, a single, blood red rose rested.
The woman stared. Never had she seen such a picture of serenity. Hatred coursed through her veins. Without a care for her own safety, she launched herself across the road, towards the child. Again, she failed to notice the cars, the profanities, the staring and the fact that the child was opening her mouth the greet her.
Without warning, she snatched the rose away from the child’s hand and hurled it at the road where it was immediately smashed. Ignoring the child's cries, she ripped the pin from her hair crushing it with her foot, and at the same time, hitting the child with her umbrella.
By the time someone dragged her off, the child no longer resembled anything that she previously was five minutes ago. The woman watched with satisfaction as paramedics converged on the child shouting medical terms no one would understand. Euphoria overwhelmed her. Laughing hysterically as she was dragged away, it didn’t occur to her that it was her husband’s funeral. Neither did it occur to her that she had previously asked her child to meet her after school at that particular spot after buying a red rose- her husband’s favorite- from the flower shop nearby.
All that mattered now was that that damning picture of serenity was gone, replaced by something she could finally relate to.
End
*Written by -, editted by * (:
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