Image courtesy of Lucy Fridkin
I am twisting, turning, falling through clouds. Stretching out my hand for you, but you’re not there. You’re never there.
In my dream I was crying and when I wake my cheeks are wet, my tongue tasting tears and despair.
The floorboards are cold against my feet as I pad into the kitchen. I sit at the table, picking at the breakfast my grieving stomach can’t eat, my eyes drawn to your empty chair.
Outside the window the sky turns from mauve, to amber, to its usual self-conscious blue as the sun burns as hot and bright as the hole you left.
A rather more reflective piece this week, as the world excitedly gets ready for Christmas some of us aren’t quite ready to celebrate….
Falling through clouds was written for Friday Fictioneers. A 100 word story inspired by a photo prompt. You can read the other entries on host Rochelle’s blog, here.