Ignoring the obvious veiled reference to sex, his words landed softly. Ignoring the lustful look, his eyes comforted her. Ignoring the bittersweet memories in her loins, his advances titillated her. Ignoring the knot that immediately rose up in her gut; a tugging she knew all too well, she smiled wantonly. What she couldn’t ignore were the tears streaming down her beautiful face; tears willing to comfort and caress a man who had certainly been through the kind of ordeal that comes not from malice, but from ignorance and a circle of pain that could only be broken by the kind of love that she was willing to give.
This entry is in response to Lillie McFerrin’s weekly challenge to take one word and caress five and only five sentences out of it. This week’s word: malice
The sun pushed its radiance upon her through the purposely darkened blinds; always that rogue, penetrating shaft slipping through a lazy crack. So she rose, reluctantly and despite a weight that felt as heavy as three elephants, not because she wanted to but because she had promised him she would.
The automatic coffee maker had been a brilliant idea, a gift from her closest friend, the kind of friend who forces things upon you that you need but don’t really want; the kind of friend who refuses to leave you alone even when all you want to do is pull the covers up over your head and never emerge again – ever.
As she sipped the strong dark brew, she glanced out the window and noticed that someone had been tending the flowers her husband had planted for her last birthday. She was grateful for the help and knew that she should find the flowers beautiful and yet every single thing around her looked as black as soot, as black and desolate as her heart had felt since her reason for living had suddenly stopped breathing.
This piece is in response to Lillie McFerrin’s brain-child, “Five Sentence Fiction,” which can be found here:
The word: “desolate”