She watches the vase rise ever higher, the chandelier highlighting the intricate cuts in the crystal. The path seems to go on forever until a wall stops the trajectory with a sudden jolt. Glass shards spread across the floor like raindrops hitting the roof. She’d been so proud of this vase - a wedding present from her mother-in-law, who adored her. She’s glad this dear woman is no longer alive to observe her treachery.
She thinks of her recent life scorecard – husband dead from too much booze, house in foreclosure, a dog so old it can’t walk outside to pee. Her former powerhouse job and 114 million other COVID casualties have disappeared.
She looks into the China cabinet and chooses another victim, a sterling silver bowl, a present from him on their 10th anniversary. He’d been so proud. “It’s solid silver,” he proclaimed. She looks at her reflection in the bowl, warped from years of tarnish. Fucking solid silver, she thinks as she hurls the bowl at the floor. It rolls into a corner as if hiding from the broken glass.
She’s always been too damn passive. “Women need to behave like ladies,” her mother said. That’s undoubtedly why she was fired rather than her backstabbing assistant.
She pulls out art deco salt and pepper shakers obtained on a trip to New York City - pink art glass with little wings and delicate silver tops. They haven’t used them for years. Her food is always well-seasoned, and no one wants extra salt in today’s hysterical world. She quickly throws one and then the other. They barely make a tinkle as they shatter.
She spots some Hummels in the back of the cabinet. One belonged to her grandmother. The others are yard sale finds. She starts to throw her grandmother’s but stops and puts it back. The others quickly meet their demise.
She wonders what’s going to happen to her now. She is too old to compete with the Gen X, Y, and Z babies out there with all their social media posts about what they ate for breakfast. She has a little money she hid from her husband, but it won’t last long, and her car needs major repairs.
She opens a blind, and the sun comes streaming in the window. It highlights the glass shards strewn across the floor. She grabs one final plate and tosses it for good measure. It rolls a bit and then breaks, the silver rim and hummingbird pattern in pieces.
Her back is stiff when she finally stands up. She surveys the detritus and smiles. She’s done enough cleaning up for the day. Someone else will have to deal with the mess that remains.
— opelikakat
She thinks of her recent life scorecard – husband dead from too much booze, house in foreclosure, a dog so old it can’t walk outside to pee. Her former powerhouse job and 114 million other COVID casualties have disappeared.
She looks into the China cabinet and chooses another victim, a sterling silver bowl, a present from him on their 10th anniversary. He’d been so proud. “It’s solid silver,” he proclaimed. She looks at her reflection in the bowl, warped from years of tarnish. Fucking solid silver, she thinks as she hurls the bowl at the floor. It rolls into a corner as if hiding from the broken glass.
She’s always been too damn passive. “Women need to behave like ladies,” her mother said. That’s undoubtedly why she was fired rather than her backstabbing assistant.
She pulls out art deco salt and pepper shakers obtained on a trip to New York City - pink art glass with little wings and delicate silver tops. They haven’t used them for years. Her food is always well-seasoned, and no one wants extra salt in today’s hysterical world. She quickly throws one and then the other. They barely make a tinkle as they shatter.
She spots some Hummels in the back of the cabinet. One belonged to her grandmother. The others are yard sale finds. She starts to throw her grandmother’s but stops and puts it back. The others quickly meet their demise.
She wonders what’s going to happen to her now. She is too old to compete with the Gen X, Y, and Z babies out there with all their social media posts about what they ate for breakfast. She has a little money she hid from her husband, but it won’t last long, and her car needs major repairs.
She opens a blind, and the sun comes streaming in the window. It highlights the glass shards strewn across the floor. She grabs one final plate and tosses it for good measure. It rolls a bit and then breaks, the silver rim and hummingbird pattern in pieces.
Her back is stiff when she finally stands up. She surveys the detritus and smiles. She’s done enough cleaning up for the day. Someone else will have to deal with the mess that remains.
— opelikakat
I can feel this. Viscerally. This is a powerful piece. Well done
ReplyDeleteI enjoyed the way this was structured... there was a rhythm to it... the rhythm of things being hurled! Even when that stopped briefly, it was like a musical interlude. I wonder who actually WILL be cleaning up... ---Macoff
ReplyDelete