Something a bit different. Having trouble sleeping tonight so I thought I would write my first ever short story. Here it goes…
She rattled her keys against the dark blue wooden doorway. She knew her husband was home from the light fading through the foggy pane of the door from the furthest room at the back of the house, the kitchen conservatory. This is the only light in her home of lies, glowing dimly to disguise as much of her life outside of it as possible.
She checked herself immediately in the mirror hanging in the dark corridor directly in front of the dark door. There wasn’t enough light from the kitchen to even dimly light her reflection. All she could see was her darkness moving in darkness. Luckily it had been raining heavily and the winter darkened quickly, so her lateness is never nearly as noticeable as was in the summer a few months ago when it started. Though it made checking herself in the mirror rather more difficult. She rubbed her hair down squeakily using the moisture to her advantage. The toils of the universe proved to be both damaging and bandaging. Then rubbed her lips quickly back and forth using the back of her hand.
She creeped to the furthest room at the back of the house like a causal rabbit, naturally moving around her own space but tentative in nature.
Her husband sat with a mug of tea, the same as usual, every evening. She felt sick. He was watching the entrance to the dim lit kitchen, the one precious bulb hanging surreptitiously but vitally to keep night times alive. As soon as she walked toward the counter to wash her hands of it, he stood elegantly, so smoothly that the heavy blanket appeared to waft in the air as if it were a handkerchief as he swiftly huddled it around her and hugged her from behind. She felt instantly warmer, his breath wolf like panting on her neck as he held her tighter, pushing into the back of her as she pushed into to the natural beige of the wooden counter top. She said nothing and breathed gently but purposefully so that he could feel her breathing against his own rib cage.
He faintly smelt of the opulent cigars he imported, aftershave and peppermint tea. She smelt like body on body. He inhaled her everyday and never once did he ever notice. She reminded herself to relax her muscles, he could feel her tension and wouldn’t let go until her muscles melted. He eased his hands across her torso back to his own body, leaving the blanket on her shoulders as he walked back to his sofa seat.
She rinsed her hands and then walked back into the darkness, feeling around for the stairs to climb. She heard the light flapping noises of bare feet on hardwood from behind her. Her heart quickened and she hesitated for a second before continuing up the stairs, dry palms running smoothly up the wooden bannister, trying to continue at the same pace up the stairs but couldn’t create the same light tread, as her feet became heavy with dread as the footsteps behind her continued.
She sat motionless on the bed staring into the darkness of the hallway through the entrance of the bedroom. He walks in not pausing and knelt next to of her on the floor. She stay still, in unnecessary anticipation of what would happen next. Her husband pulled her toward him, so she sat perfectly straight backed and legs evenly bent over the bed in front of him placing her hands, palms up, on her lap. She did the courtesy of turning her head to face him. Chin knelt down toward him but her eyes were glazed over. He shifted forward and then he began to cry. Sobbing first loudly with his hands gorilla fisted on either side of his body and then put his head down onto her palms for her to collect his tears.
He said he was different when she met him.
Another night, another opportunity to lose herself in acts she would have never committed before. Before was different, because she accepted different. The smell of Peppermint tea didn’t bother her anymore, it did nothing to cover up his earthy, fleshy stench and this is what she relied on to cover her own referred smell from being in such close contact with others like him, not so different.
She came home, darkness leading to the kitchen. He was not in his chair. She looked down on the floor and a shattered mug with warm liquid splashed over the wooden floorboards. She picked up the largest knife in the holder and held it defensively up, ready, already warmed up from her evening. She knew she would be safe in the kitchen for now, whilst the smell of peppermint held lightly in the air. But she wasn’t afraid to step into the darkness of the corridors, the corridors kept from the light in anticipation of the trauma that will occur in them. There he stood at the bottom of the stairs silently, neck bent, eyes wild and wide, grinning with sharp teeth, and then he screamed and she lunged.
But What Does That Mean? 