Friday, February 22, 2013

A knock on the door

My writing pal both dealt with the end of a relationship based on the first line taken from The Butcher of St.Peter.

It was the knock on the door that made her move at last. Only then was she aware that the room had darkened while she’s been sitting in the chair, his chair. He’d play with his iPhone with the television reporting the news in the background.

This was the time she sat at her desk, playing games on her computer. She didn’t like the violent games, but played things like Mahjong or Bubbleburst. Cricklers too.

She should have spent less time on the computer and more with him. Now she couldn’t.

Maybe she should have seen it coming. The clichéd working late, the too tired for sex. He’d just bought her a diamond necklace for Christmas, a guilt gift, she thought now.

When she came at noon at first she thought the flat had been robbed. Where his DVDs and his computer had been were now empty spaces. A robber wouldn’t take his clothes and toiletries and leave hers.

She found his note on the kitchen table. It too was clichéd: Couldn’t help himself…so in love with…didn’t mean to hurt her…Alan.

The knock was more urgent. She forced herself to answer it.

Janice, her best friend, stood there. “Alan called. He said you might need some company.”

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