She imagines herself as a suspension and a languid smile stretches her lips like a cat waking itself up from a nap....
STORY
She hears organ music echoing in her head. A velvety sound that flows through her fingers like the finest of silk. Spun by fairies. Worn by their Queen.
She sways, like a dervaish who has forsaken all wordly burdens, making her way to the window. A Blast. Debris everywhere. Children screaming. A singed baby shoe bounces off the window as she gazes serenely at the smouldering landscape. The light from the blast illuminates her face through the intricately worked crochet curtains. She can’t help it and smiles a lazy grin, her eyes fluttering shut. Euphoria lifts her up and twirls her through the air like a tender ballerina lover. A pirouette.
And as she floats to the fireplace, she hears gunfire. She tosses some dry driftwood on the dying embers of the fire, which gives a comforting roar, the crackle of the wood mingling with the sharp gun fire.
She drops into the armchair nearest to fire and sighs. A toast. To life. To Death.
May he take all of us, satisfied and in the arms of a lover.
She drains the last few drops of her absinthe keeping an ear cocked for Death when he comes knocking at her door. An old friend invited for a warm home-cooked meal. Outside a little boy claws at his blue cotton shorts, as they go up in smoke.
She is not afraid to die; in fact, she imagines it would be bliss. Everything stopped. Suspended. A suspension in golden glowing honey perhaps. Thick and sweet.
She imagines herself as a suspension and a languid smile stretches her lips like a cat waking itself up from a nap. Her cheeks ache as they stretch; out of practice.Like old playdough in the hands of an overenthusiastic child.
The fire warms her face gently. The slow, plaintive singing of a young girl hovers above her. It goes with the piano she heard earlier. The onslaught of memories is sudden: a vivid image of her lover waving at her through a lace-curtained window, on that cold, wet January day. When the sun peeked through the fat clouds lumbering about. Her heart is clutched by longing as she remembers the way the sun lit up his face. She groans. What is it they say? To have loved and lost is better than never having loved at all?
She had loved all right. Oh, how she had loved….
Frowning faintly, she wonders how much longer it will be. Her life passed by in the blink of an eye, like an acquaintance waving goodbye from the grimy window of a train. Why are these moments carrying on forever, when they are but a few drops of blood in the vast nothingness of the ocean. A loud crash interjects her thoughts. The shattering of glass ringing through her ears.
The night will end soon, so she gets up to pour herself some more wine.
