Silenced. (Fiction)

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Every day has seemed more lonelier than the previous. Solitary melancholy has echoed through the nooks and corners of this home. Ten years of abandonment. Ten futile years of solitary confinement. Yes, it’s ten years he’s left me and this world.
Back in the 1970’s when I was married to him, life seemed all fair and beautiful. Now my greying hair and numbing skin alone tells tales of inexpressible emotions that I’ve  canned within the depths of my heart.
That stormy night we had quite a memorable time when we talked and talked as we feasted over a bottle of freshly bought port wine. It was a long time since I’d seen that twinkle in his eyes. That surprisingly sated twinkle. Few drops of wine hung funnily from the fine edges of his greying beard as he said ” I wish to live these moments more often” and guffawed so loudly that it still rings melodiously in my ears.
The next morning his cold hands as he lay next to me in bed was the only sign of ‘those’ moments that would never return again.
It took several ounces of strength to finally call my neighbours and relatives to arrange the funeral ceremony.
That was ten years ago yet it is so fresh in my memory that no superficial power could erase.
Now as I stand beside the window facing the rocking chair that he loved so very much, I’m transported to the days when this home bursted with effervescence and laughter.
My son though seems to have found a job overseas, I’ve never been adamant about where he preferred to stay. He comes to visit me once in four months just to see if I’m okay.
The weather as I see outside the window,seems to have turned dull and gloomy. The clock chimes as it’s scheduled to be. It is 8:00 p.m. and I need to check if I’ve fastened the door lock before I proceed with my dinner.
I head towards the door as the floorboards creak noisily. Then I notice a faint movement from the corner of my eye. I remove my glasses and rub my eyes till they feel fine. The movement is still there. Holding the rim of my glasses singlehandedly , I stare flabbergasted at the rocking chair which has begun to rock quietly.

(Fiction)

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© Varina Berryl Rasquinha, 7verina.wordpress.com, 2015.
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