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What follows is given in response to the 100 Word Challenge, reborn, now, under the gentle auspices of Tara Roberts at "Thin Spiral Notebook". The word, this week, is "peculiar".
When I remember how to do all the linking and stuff, it will look mach as it used to.
Most peculiar, this thing called Death.
She seems as though she sleeps. I wait for her breast to rise with a breath, for her eyes to open and find me, see me, and to smile at me.
But she stays so very still.
No pulse throbs at her temple, or her neck, now so alabaster, so white.
Tears flood my eyes, stream down my cheek, drop onto her hand, crossed with the other, holding white orchid in their grasp.
I cannot bring myself to touch her.
A hand grasps my arm, pulls me away.
Most peculiar ... this thing ... called Death.
Ndinombethe. Ubuntu.
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9 comments:
This broke my heart, so much grief.
(I was very excited to see you name pop up. I hope you keep joining in the Challenge.)
Oh, Lou. Heartbreaking.
good to see you. Hoping you are well.
Oh Lou. Such incredible words, such a deep, emotional scene.
Oh Lou. Such incredible words, such a deep, emotional scene.
This is a beautiful expression of grief, Lou. Well done.
My heart hurts. Well done, Lou.
Beautiful. It reminds me of when I reached for Grandma's hand in the casket and surprisingly found it cold, plastic-like. It was so disappointing. Six weeks later, when her son (my beloved father-in-law) collapsed of a heart attack and passed, I asked the paramedics if I could hug him. He was still warm, still Bob. I was grateful for that last goodbye.
Thanks for sharing a piece of your heart.
Such a perfect expression of grief. It breaks the heart and soul.
Wow.
100 is just the right number of words for this moment.
Expertly described.
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