A Glass Winter
By M T M
A room can hold a thousand memories. Every heartbreak, argument, bubble of joy, seeping into the furniture. If these walls could talk. A family grows...
The bottle exploded angrily on the marble floor. “FUCK!” Vanessa screeched. It was a good rosé as well. The noise was just enough to make everyone...
There was a thimble on the ground, he wondered for a second how on earth it had gotten there but quickly decided he didn’t care. Something like rock bottom was hitting his shoulders and making them slump. Sweat was getting into his eyes.
Looking down at her phone she see’s six missed calls from her mother. Wiping her dewy eye’s, she stows it back in her purse; swapping it for a hip flask full of vodka. She didn’t feel like flirting for drinks tonight.
There was some sense of malice, as if the mirror knew what he had done, laying bare his betrayal. Like Dorian Grays portrait enumerating his sins.
Heat, oppressive heat. They said it would be 39°C in the city. Those unfortunate enough to be outside hustled from one air-conditioned lobby to another, a constant tirade of disbelief. It cannot be this hot, this is ridiculous.
Whatever has become of her, he thought. Reading her letters didn’t shed much light, the same deathly romantic, self-satisfying musings as when they were together.
The weight lifting from his shoulders seemed to inspire a scream of applause from nature itself. Never had this patio, this garden, these hills, moved him so deeply.
Such was the energy of the scene, every surface gleamed with disgrace, wet plates and dust covered glasses, all crying in silent worship of their deathly beautiful figurehead.
Clear as his two steaming jailers, he saw her twisted form, moving ever so slightly in the moment before absolute death. A second playing on an endless loop, his wife shifting into silence, a shiver almost too small to see, and now he was condemned to see it always.
Fallow pools of vapid souls swirl around the world machine. Leaving little fuel for us, the cognisant fools committed to studying lies.
His perfect form was constricted by a perfect suit, but his comfort in it spoke to something caged; as a lion so used to confinement still brings its wild power to the bars of the zoo.