Image: Pixabay
Jean pulls cigarette smoke into her lungs. It makes her mind soften, drift away.
She feels her bruised cheekbone. It has its own tempo now, a counterpoint to her heartbeat. Where did Gordon learn to use his fists like that, learn language that can make her stomach shrink?
Sometimes her own anger is like that bruise – a rhythm threatening to erupt, to beat the Stranger Gordon into his chair. Is her husband still trapped inside that crabbed carcass, weeping for her to free him?
The cigarette drops, ember fizzing on the damp ground.
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Written for Nortina’s Moral Mondays. Read the moral – this week’s is Harsh Words Stir Up Anger – and write a story in 100 words. See here for full Ts and Cs.
If you would like to support the Alzheimer’s Society, the anthology Still Me is available to buy through Pewter Rose Press, with all profits going to the AS.
Wow! This story is so tragically poetic! I love how every word was carefully selected to convey a certain image. Beautifully done!
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Thank you so much for your great feedback, Nortina! Very kind of you and glad you enjoyed it 🙂
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Tragic story, heart-achingly told. There but for the grace of God …
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It’s a scary old disease. I know someone whose husband suffered from it and his whole personality changed. He became foul mouthed and physically violent when he had been nothing like that before. His wife was his carer and found it terrifically hard. We can but keep our fingers crossed and hope for the best for ourselves. Thank you for reading, Chris 🙂
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