Fera was gently massaging her blackened eye from last night’s altercations when she saw Jodd’s reflection in the mirror; a reflection that she could no longer recognize. She saw his stout frame sinking onto the couch, beside their framed wedding day photograph, that hung on the plaid wall, which had no significance, or no memory that they could not associate with pain. She exhaled a sigh of relief after looking at his small eyes that no longer had any trace of white color, and was shrouded in redness. Eyes, that was once blue and deep. Eyes that lost their color because of the red tears he shed, and the red wine he gulped down to forget the beautiful, chaotic memories.
She looked at her reflection, and tried to console and love, momentarily, the reflection she detested. She approached him, too drunk to give her another black eye, another bruise, another scar, and another reason. She gave him the glass of gin, hopefully the last one she’d ever pour for him, and saw him from the corner of her eyes, one last time as he clutched the glass and tried to see himself in the liquid.
She felt a lump in her throat as she saw the glass move vertically, with every ragged breath he…show more content… She and I. We used to sit there, and wait. The Long, unbearable wait for the dampness in the air, for the smell of droplets, the brush of cold dust against our faces, the wind to destroy the homes of the big black birds, and the washed bourgeois clothes left to dry on the plastic strings, screaming to fly away with the wind. We waited for the rains. But the monsoon never came; the boats. Oh the boats. We sat there and saw the boats. We saw our handwork. We saw our perseverance. We saw our hope. And we cried. Hoping that our tears will stream and float the boats away, but we were too small. And so we sat there, wondering. And we saw a fire, a fire burning the oceans away, burning the happiness to ashes. And we sat there. Watching, and burning the