Silence. Yet another day of hope, another day to clean the counter-tops, the tables and the windows. Eileen wanted it perfect when Mike returned. She touched her wedding-band and noticed that her fingers had thickened since he proposed to her.
‘Just another week’, he said.
But weeks turned to years, and with bricks of silence she built their house, upon the bones of failed fidelity. Memories can be tricky but in the darkness of the night she recalled why her perfect kitchen lacked a meat-cleaver, and how she learned to mix concrete.
‘Just another week’.
It’s been a while since we had an empty kitchen in Friday Fictioneers, and I always felt that there are bodies behind the floorboards somewhere. Since Rochelle run this as a rerun, I really went back to the type of stories I used to write back then and see what I could do.
June 10, 2015