Thursday, 25 August 2011

On the Prom

I'm somewhat beset by memories this week, recollections of moment's shared with a dear friend I lost last year and thoughts about her experiences. It's a difficult week for all the people who loved her. The 100 words piece below is a verbal snapshot of one of an hour we spent together in her last year.



Her eyes are dull, dry wood in a desert white face. “I’m not myself,” she says in a faded voice, staring out at the sea.
“No,” I say, helpless. “I can see that.”
She lifts her cold hand and I see it tremble. She huddles within her coat, a matchstick girl, too thin and wasted.
“I need to be free,” she says. “I need to be in the mountains.”
“I know,” I say. “Be patient.”
Her red woollen hat is bright, livid against her dark hair, a smear of scarlet, a slash of blood. Jocularity in sorrow, a hidden laugh.

3 comments:

David A Ludwig said...

I'm sorry for your loss, and what your friend went through.

Charity Girl said...

Thanks David, I feel sure she's at peace now, but like my brother said, when someone dies there a person shaped hole in the world that nothing quite fills. On her anniversary, it becomes more obvious, but that's ok. It feels good to remember!

Anonymous said...

I'm sure she'd like the idea of providing inspiration to you.