»
Main Forums
»
Passions in Prose
»
In Memorium
| Passions in Prose |
|
In Memorium |
|
|
Skyfyre Senior Member
since 1999-08-15
Posts 1906Sitting in Michael's Lap 
|
What am I doing here? It was a question that she often asked herself, and one that had come to define her very existence of late. The burning questions of what, wherefore and why seemed to be all she had left to live for. She glanced around the bedroom -- her bedroom, though she could not bring herself to consider it so -- her eyes passing ever so briefly over the pieces of her life gathered there. No recognition shone in her face when she gazed upon what had once been her most personal and prized belongings. Sitting amidst the trappings of her own life, Isabel had never felt more like a stranger. There were flowers and phone calls, cards and visits from every manner of acquaintance, colleague and even the occasional self-proclaimed ex-lover. They were all brimming over with concern for her, for what she had endured and what had been lost. With smiles and warm gestures, they offered their support and assistance, should she ever need anything -- but the eyes told a different story. There was naught but pity there, whether for her, for themselves, or for her family. She had grown so accustomed to seeing it there that she had begun to ignore the distinctions, hating them all equally with tight smiles of thanks and murmured pleasantries. So alike, they all were, save one. The portrait on the wall captivated her gaze, as it had quite often since she had returned home. So elegant in its simplicity -- so perfect an image of bliss had surely never again been captured. The ethereal quality which illuminated the face of a young bride, likened only to that of an angel treading the earth bedecked in wedding finery. The smile she wore lit up the room, second only to the matching one on the face of her betrothed. My face. My husband. The words sounded disconnected, alien. The countenance of that blushing bride was so unlike her own that she found it incredible that they indeed were one and the same. And the husband -- my husband -- bore no resemblance to the empty, listless shell he had become. For him, she wished she could remember. Every time he turned his eyes on her -- those deep, hopeful eyes -- she swore she could see yet another part of his flame flickering out. Sometimes she cried, unable to bear the weight of such sorrow in such a tender soul, all the while knowing she was the cause of it. Even now her eyes misted when she thought of him, her sense of justice raging at the unkindness of the Fate that had brought them both to this pass. Your wife is dead, she whispered to the shadow in the photograph. I do not know you -- dear God, I don't even know myself. Every day, that becomes clearer to me. The woman you love is gone, and I have taken her place, and try though I might I can never replace what you have lost. For that, my dear Anthony, if nothing else, I am sorry. ****** Discovering the tumor had been an accident, but one that had saved her life. Or so she had been told. The details of pre-surgery had vanished, along with every other shred of her identity. She had simply awakened one day in the hospital with a splitting headache, surrounded by scurrying hordes of medical personnel and hooked up to every machine imaginable. There was a man sitting by her bed, his fingers entwined with hers even as he slept. Her initial thought was to wake him and inquire as to his identity, but she was loath to disturb his slumber as it was quite obvious that it was the result of sheer exhaustion. She sat quietly for some time, trying to collect her thoughts and piece together what had happened. So engrossed was she in her musings that she managed to completely ignore the young nurse who had noticed she was awake. " ... are expected to regain full use of both legs, with the help of physical therapy, Mrs. Collins. So far as we have been able to determine, the surgery was completely successful, with no evidence of complications." She had looked blankly at the nurse, who smiled and said that a measure of disorientation was to be expected, and asked if she and her husband might fancy a bite to eat. "To regain your strength," she quipped cheerfully. My husband, she thought, looking at the sleeping stranger beside her. No complications ... Who am I? ********* The face in the picture offered no reply, and the eyes that sought one knew there was nothing to find. Isabel Simmons had died of brain cancer at the age of 27. She had left behind a woman with no past, forced to make a new beginning by picking up the pieces of someone else's life. The tears were silent when they fell, shed in mourning for a person she had never known. ------------------ You cannot choose the way of your death, but the path you choose will determine its own end. |
||
| © Copyright 1999 Linda Anderson - All Rights Reserved | |||
|
Deep Blue Me Member
since 1999-11-04
Posts 396By a big lake |
Familiar and mysterious and twisty. Thanks for the ride, Sky. DB |
||
|
Dusk Treader
Moderator
Senior Member
since 1999-06-18
Posts 1187St. Paul, MN |
Wow... I'm left quite amazed. And a little bit frightened, I'd never thought of amnesia in that light before. Great tale with unexpected twists. Thanks very much for the read. ------------------ "Human pride sings a vengeful song, inspired by the times you've been walked on" - Creed - "What If" |
||
|
JennyLee Senior Member
since 1999-09-01
Posts 1461Northwestern, NJ. |
This is absolute beauty.... unable to bear the weight...Kess this is a writing wonder...I enjoyed this so much  jenny Lee ------------------ Love is an attempt at penetrating another being,But it can only succeed if the surrender is mutual. |
||
|
Poet deVine
Administrator
Member Seraphic
since 1999-05-26
Posts 22612Hurricane Alley |
Hmm...this is very good. I've always like Skyfyre's work. |
||
|
ESP Member Elite
since 2000-01-25
Posts 2556Floating gently on a cloud.... |
Yeah I like this, very eery and twisty turny, definitely keeps the reader very much to attention. Great read  Luv, Liz xxx "Gorge the honey from life, and live through the stomach aches knowing they will pass..." ~Liz Pinard 2003~ |
||
Skyfire 
since 2000-12-27
Posts 3381Riding |
Huh... from one Sky to another, I must say that this is incredibly haunting, and I'm not sure that I'm going to forget this one very easily. Very well written indeed |
||
|
|
⇧ top of page ⇧ |
|
| All times are ET (US). All dates are in Year-Month-Day format. | ||
