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DEEDS NEVER DIE
#WritcoStoryPrompt8
The picture in the frame held a lot of memories. Some good, some sad. Her tired eyes roamed over it one last time before she tossed it in the fire. It was time to start afresh. She felt a sense of relief romancing the ruins of her insides, her broken heart, unfulfilled promises, insecurities, wounded pride, and horrors that magicked goose pimples all over her skin though all we're done and gone she couldn't imagine if shouting "Am freed!" would bring it on the faces of the world's people. A number of celebrations filled her mind; people shouting and clapping, chinking of glasses everywhere, friends calling her name myriad of times saying," Dear Emily you're saved!" She wished she could physically get on her feet and pay tribute to the loving people in her imagination but the timely waves that now and then blew across her then vulnerable mind brought back the pain and psychological torture she suffered while they no longer stayed.
She scanned the ashes of the picture and her right eye brimmed an enormous teardrop that at it's falling, she turned from the fire and pulled on a smile. she didn't know, for a moment, whether she would name it under the tears of Joy or deep down, the opposite. Loss always brought her into backtracking of how and what she lost was an existence of pain or a source of Joy to her.
She passed her fingers across her eyes for no reason. If there ever happened somebody to hold her hand back, she wouldn't hesitate stopping them from making the feeling she possessed at the time being only imaginations.
WAS SUPPOSED TO BE REAL, TO BE TRUE, AND HER TO BE THE BEARER OF SUCH A FEELING.
She sighed, giggled, whipped her face dry of sweat and tears, licked her lips which tasted salty and cracked from dryness, tied her collar button, hugged her woolen overcoat tight on herself then swayed herself in circles on one leg, so that her pinafore skirt made an umbrella.
The nine year old suffocated rumours by the dwellers of the country about how Reynold (her husband) had a clue of her twins being murdered at once in the plains of eden which is a few miles away if rode on horseback, Emily forever ignored rumours and lived a life that was not rumour-supported.
On a bright beautiful evening at the said date of the twins murder, Emily prepared for her husband a suit she sewn and designed herself and gifted it to him on his birthday two years earlier, as on that new year's day he wished to take their sons for a horse ride.
Emily's late mother used to remark that the two had stole the girlish print of her (Emily) eyes.
Being her first borns, she cherised them and never missed giving them gifts every other year till their last when fourteen years old.
Reynold rode back home at dusk and Emily wondered why he had to lay on the horse other than the latter. His abnormal breathing shot Emily to run towards him, noticing that his coat was divided into two and only one worn on one side, blood dripping down his hand from his armpit and the outward lining of his left pinna missing. his tongue couldn't get up from it's bottom and she could tell her husband's pain was indescribable.
She saw no other horse, nor the boys, nor their calling her. Her own words failed her. Her whole body froze, her voice as if out of stock. She couldn't feel the breeze silencing the debate in her head. For if her husband happened to come back holding with him such weight of doom surprise,
How could her twins survive?
Emily believed.
© derrecyoy
The picture in the frame held a lot of memories. Some good, some sad. Her tired eyes roamed over it one last time before she tossed it in the fire. It was time to start afresh. She felt a sense of relief romancing the ruins of her insides, her broken heart, unfulfilled promises, insecurities, wounded pride, and horrors that magicked goose pimples all over her skin though all we're done and gone she couldn't imagine if shouting "Am freed!" would bring it on the faces of the world's people. A number of celebrations filled her mind; people shouting and clapping, chinking of glasses everywhere, friends calling her name myriad of times saying," Dear Emily you're saved!" She wished she could physically get on her feet and pay tribute to the loving people in her imagination but the timely waves that now and then blew across her then vulnerable mind brought back the pain and psychological torture she suffered while they no longer stayed.
She scanned the ashes of the picture and her right eye brimmed an enormous teardrop that at it's falling, she turned from the fire and pulled on a smile. she didn't know, for a moment, whether she would name it under the tears of Joy or deep down, the opposite. Loss always brought her into backtracking of how and what she lost was an existence of pain or a source of Joy to her.
She passed her fingers across her eyes for no reason. If there ever happened somebody to hold her hand back, she wouldn't hesitate stopping them from making the feeling she possessed at the time being only imaginations.
WAS SUPPOSED TO BE REAL, TO BE TRUE, AND HER TO BE THE BEARER OF SUCH A FEELING.
She sighed, giggled, whipped her face dry of sweat and tears, licked her lips which tasted salty and cracked from dryness, tied her collar button, hugged her woolen overcoat tight on herself then swayed herself in circles on one leg, so that her pinafore skirt made an umbrella.
The nine year old suffocated rumours by the dwellers of the country about how Reynold (her husband) had a clue of her twins being murdered at once in the plains of eden which is a few miles away if rode on horseback, Emily forever ignored rumours and lived a life that was not rumour-supported.
On a bright beautiful evening at the said date of the twins murder, Emily prepared for her husband a suit she sewn and designed herself and gifted it to him on his birthday two years earlier, as on that new year's day he wished to take their sons for a horse ride.
Emily's late mother used to remark that the two had stole the girlish print of her (Emily) eyes.
Being her first borns, she cherised them and never missed giving them gifts every other year till their last when fourteen years old.
Reynold rode back home at dusk and Emily wondered why he had to lay on the horse other than the latter. His abnormal breathing shot Emily to run towards him, noticing that his coat was divided into two and only one worn on one side, blood dripping down his hand from his armpit and the outward lining of his left pinna missing. his tongue couldn't get up from it's bottom and she could tell her husband's pain was indescribable.
She saw no other horse, nor the boys, nor their calling her. Her own words failed her. Her whole body froze, her voice as if out of stock. She couldn't feel the breeze silencing the debate in her head. For if her husband happened to come back holding with him such weight of doom surprise,
How could her twins survive?
Emily believed.
© derrecyoy
