fiction, Uncategorized

Wistful – Short Fiction

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The room was garnished with the most luscious of elements. Bright, velvety flowers lay strewn across the neatly made bed, from which emanated the fragrance of splendour and a resident whiff of the exhilarating mystery that lay ahead at the fall of midnight-darkness. A silver tray, filled up to the brim with carefully selected array of fruits, lay perched on the table near the adorned door.

Rhea ran her deeply painted eyes over the embellishments, done studiously with the sole intention of celebrating the uniqueness of the night. Plaintive motes reflected from the murky corners of the room blinded her vision, as a lone drop of tear rolled down her rosy, made-up cheek. As on a cue, a southern summer breeze that sailed through the partly open window settled down on her damp face and stroked it in its vain attempt to erase the redundant streaks of melancholy.

The impatient thud of the door being closed startled her. She rose from the bed and stood against him with her head hung low. The wax and wane of her heart gripped her, gluing her frail body to the floor.

“Hi”

The longing that reverberated in her husband’s voice failed to pierce the thick, stoic veil of her heart. She felt an unprecedented gurgle emanate from the deep recess of her throat, nevertheless.

“Hi,” she uttered, forcing a smile on her face.

She realised then that she had a lifetime ahead to try and forget her past.

But, if only she could. 

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