She dropped the wine bottle and screamed. The large kitchen echoed for a moment from the double waves of sound. Then silence fell again in this temple of shiny surfaces, latest gadgets, and that massive stove he had insisted on getting.

     “Think of all the parties we’ll give, darling,” he had drawled and then left her to deal with the grunting moving men.

     Now the pure white floor tiles at her feet looked like an abstract painting. She put out one bare foot and pressed down, at first gingerly and then with deep-seated self-loathing as the glass shards cut into her pedicure perfect foot. 
     The second foot followed. The pain was shooting up her legs from her feet. And she felt for the first time in weeks alive, present in her own body. After the one scream, not even a whimper came from between her clenched jaws. Her eyes were unfocused as her whole being turned inward to the pain. 
     This at least was real. This at least filled the silence.

by Rebekah Moors


  1. What a profound sense of place in such a succinctly worded piece - top notch!


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