Reflection

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic


 

 

She reflected, her memory opening like a triptych in a gallery. The loneliness in college, then meeting him. The jubilance and joy, lambent days and luminescent nights. All-too rapid romance and hasty marriage. Then the cheating and the beatings following her accusations. Wanting escape, but hampered by pregnancy and indecision.

His insistence on perfection at home. Dinner at 6:00. Dessert with every meal. And peaches, always peaches. Peach cobbler, peach pie. Peach ice cream, freshly made. The pits on her kitchen table; growing, always mounting, a cordillera. Then a notion forming in the mind; rising like magma from a batholith, first boiling and then settled, cooling, solidifying inside.

Grinding, crushing, pulverizing. From pit to powder, powder to liquid. Good Housekeeping recipes for syrups, sauces, glazes, soups. Building up amygdalin. Concentrating in his stomach, in his veins and arteries, his brain and his heart.

Tuning out his words, his daily complaints, but watching, always studying him. And waiting. In bed after making pain. At morning coffee and evening repast. Noticing the faint tinge of blue, of cyanosis, develop in his complexion. Until one evening, when he began gasping, his lungs denied oxygen, and him croaking to her to call 911. Her then smirking, her eyes coruscating, as he dropped, clutching his throat. Then blessed silence, the bliss of solitude once more.

Just as now, perched atop the mountain, eyes on the sky. The acme of her existence.

 


Submitted: July 17, 2021

© Copyright 2021 Cyb9751. All rights reserved.

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