SLOW REALIZATION

She had been lying on the floor staring at the ceiling for some length of time. The sun had come and gone and the day had not made any new marks upon her recollection. Realization would come. But not right now.

Eventually she would fall asleep and dream about screaming cats and falling rainbows. Hordes of red angels would march in sharp lines from one horizon to the next until the only thing left of her dreams was a throbbing headache behind swollen eyes.

Realization

She was old. Overweight. Exhausted and all out of fun. She had nothing left to give and it was showing. Her unkempt hair, chipped nail polish, sandpaper heels, and bristly leg hair proved its case to everyone who saw her. This was it. The end.

Realization

Her naked body felt as if it had been strapped to the floor. How long had she been lying there in her closet? It had been days and her phone had died. The closet had been emptied the month before along with half of everything else in the house. All that was left was his smell.

55 years they had been married.

Kids had been raised. Grand kids were having grand kids. Holidays and birthdays had become a web of electronic lives being lived without her. Her house was paid off and retirement had been successfully saved.

And he left.

The love of her life….

Left

Retirement with her was too calm. Her body was too old. Her wisdom was too cautious. Her steps were too slow. She shook when she served him breakfast and that made him sad. Their routine had become her comfort and his prison.

Realization

Someone else more beautiful and younger than her would serve him breakfast now. He would watch the sunrise holding his new lady close, kissing her as the sun set. He would sit reading the paper while his lovely lady cooked supper each night. They would skip rocks under the stars and picnic on rooftops overlooking graffiti lives. While…

She lied alone, stuck paralyzed, to her closet floor.

Realizing

Dying

Decaying