Short Story

Lady Reckless

And there it was…a feeling of despair; A lone, distraught gloom that settled upon her as he left. She sat looking at him walking away. He was leaving her. She did not know whether it was completely in her right to stop him…if you could ever stop them from leaving. If only she could muster up the courage to say something. Anything. Yet she sat there, tucking back her hair behind her ears, smoothening out the fabric of her skirt and drinking back her tears.

The death of the soul is a sad thing. Silence, especially over the things that matter, strangles the best of people, withering away the last of the fight left within them.  She wondered how long it would take for her. Her perfectly painted red nails drove a stark contrast with her pale white skin. She studied her hands. To the world, she seemed perfectly engrossed in her long, slender fingers. In her head, she pictured how she looked to the people passing by:

A young woman in her twenties, tall and beautiful with dark hair pulled in a neat pony tail. To them she seemed like a rather pleasant young woman enjoying the late afternoon sun. They probably noticed how daintily she sat by that fountain, her feet crossed, hair gently brushing against her cheek in the breeze.

It was so simple to fool the world. Dress well, put on some make up and brush up on your manners. That is what her mother had always told her; Be a lady. And a lady she was. As graceful and as well bred as they come. Yet what her mother had never really told her was that her being an obedient and well mannered woman would not be enough. Her mother had also never told her that men were cruel.

Her eyes were still studying her fingers and let one of them caress the small platinum band on her left hand. With a gentle tug she pulled the ring off and curled her fist around it. In time to see him reach the door of his car, she looked up.

“James!” Her voice rang out strong and clear. He stopped and turned to look at her, the slightest hint of surprise in his eyes. It irked her to see his reaction; there was no remorse. Only the shrewd arrogance of one who seems to think it impossible that there exists resistance…retaliation.

 She immediately became conscious of what she might look like now: A tall, dark haired woman, with creases on the back of her skirt and hair cascading from behind her ears and onto her face was walking towards a man. She did not pull her hair behind her ears this time for one of her hands held a smart brown clutch and the other held the ring in a tight fist.

It seemed only fitting that he was about to say something and his lips were slightly opened, because it took much less effort in stuffing the ring straight into his unsuspecting mouth and landing a swift slap on his face.

 “Claire!” He staggered back, his hand on the cheek she had just burnt. He coughed the ring out.

She only smiled. A smile befitting a lady; a lady as well bred and graceful as they come.

James was looking at her as if she was crazy. This time she did not wonder what she might look like to the world… she knew. Yet she only smoothened her skirt, pushed back her hair, flashed a tight smile and walked away. 

---Angel.