Written for OLWG #406. The three prompts are shown below. Disclaimer: this is a work of fiction; it is not about me and my husband. The only parallel is the death of my husband’s identical twin on April 2, 2024. This is a look at what might have been.
Handsome Nigel Forsythe taught history at the university where Camilla Saunders was the librarian. His penchant for crime novels brought him to Camilla’s desk every week. She was a mousy thing with dull hair and thin lips but splendid breasts for which Nigel had a hankering.
When he asked her out for coffee, she accepted. Getting to know one another was excruciating but Nigel persevered, no doubt spurred on by the thought of getting into Camilla’s blouse.
On their fourth coffee date, Nigel suggested they do “something different”; Camilla was apprehensive but went along. They drove to a secluded park with meandering pathways and steps that seemingly led to nowhere.
“Aren’t the flowers lovely, Camilla?” Nigel asked and was rewarded with a thunderous sneeze.
“Allergies” Camilla complained.
“Watch the ivy, Camilla. We wouldn’t want you getting your heels caught up in it.”
“Nigel, this looks like poison ivy. I’m allergic and don’t have my EpiPen! Why did you insist on bringing me to this horrible jungle?”
“It’s hardly a jungle, Camilla, and the view from the top is to die for.”
With each step Camilla’s breathing became more labored until she was near collapse.
Camilla turned. Nigel was stunned to see her blouse soaked with sweat and clinging to her heaving breasts. He grabbed her shoulders, planting a hungry kiss on her cadaverous lips.
Camilla broke away, slapped Nigel and ran down the steps to the car. They drove back to the university in stony silence.
Written in response to The Unicorn Challenge where we are asked to be creative in 250 words or less by using the photo you see below. This is my story.
NB. My story is another perspective prompted by C.E. Ayr’s intriguing response to this week’s Unicorn Challenge. Please check out C.E.’s story here and/or here. I hope you enjoy my version and his.
Contrary to popular opinion, sometimes these things really do just happen – at least that’s how it was for me.
My husband was out for the day … the monthly visit with his son from his first marriage. I never fault him this time alone; it’s good for him and it gives me the chance to spend a day in my favorite book store.
One day while on my way home, I paused to watch the swans; from the bridge I saw a man emerge from his boat. As if drawn by my presence, he glanced up at me and waved. I waved back. Then the most unexpected thing happened: he beckoned me. I went down to greet him and that was the beginning of our affair.
Now I live for my husband’s monthly visits with his son.
This month my husband’s son is backpacking with friends and there is no visit. He busies himself with tennis and darts at the pub. Desperate to meet my lover, I bailed on our tennis game, pretending to be sick, and my husband went off alone to find a partner.
The afternoon with my lover was heavenly; half-way home I turned around and returned to the boat.
How could I know my husband had paused on the bridge to watch the swans and saw me leave the boat?
How could my husband know that while he was plotting his jealous revenge, I had returned to the boat and was inside when he torched it?
So that was it, then. She finally left him. After all those threats and tearful rants, she packed a bag and left.
Oh, this wasn’t the first time. Every week she’d get into a tizzy, start throwing things around the place, threatening to leave. But she never did.
She’d get as far as the front door, then stop, turn around and run back into his open arms. They’d fall on the bed and passionately make up, each one promising never to fight again, each one swearing their unending love. Always feeding off each other’s desperation.
It never ceased to amuse him, the look of shock on her face when he beat her each time after having sex. What a stupid, insipid cow. She never learned her lesson. The one thing he hated more than her rants was the fact that she was such a slow learner.
But this time’s different. She actually left him.
On the third morning, alone in their tiny apartment, he lit a cigarette and stared out the window. That’s when he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. So, she couldn’t stay away after all. He didn’t even bother turning around when the door opened. He knew one look at her face, he’d want to bash it in.
Just as well. He never saw the gun as she ended his life.
“Police. There’s been a shooting. Send someone round. Yes, the phone booth by Miller’s Road.”
David ben Alexander, The Skeptic’s Kaddish, has inspired me to take a page from his book and create my first Dectina Refrain Poem
photo art by misky.uk
You looking at us five? We are unique. How we worry you! Why are you so afraid when you don’t even know us? Our five hearts are breaking for you, consumed with hate, so unaccepting. “You looking at us five? We are unique.”
The Elephant's Trunk 