Tag Archives: Deceit

Scarlett

rose

She handpicked the last rose of summer; watched the petals wilt into a ballet of depression. The ghost of his apology of deceit had bred in her mind for days. She knew that walking unafraid in a world devoid of him could never equal the burning desire of a restored heart. She crushed the rose in her hand. Someday she would visit his office and attempt to rekindle the love of her lover; a man whom she would always believe to be a raw diamond in the earth.

©2013.alittlebirdtweets

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Naomi

‘You’re not the woman you think you are.’ Stephen whispered.

With wary eyes, he watched his wife rotate before the mirror in a black satin dress. He remembered when she used to dress so strikingly for him; when they were in love.

‘Did you say something, honey?’ she asked, as she sprayed musk to her throat; completing her dress-up session for the evening ahead.

‘No, I didn’t say a word.’ he replied.

‘Well, I’m done here honey. I probably won’t be back until late, so don’t wait up. You know what it’s like when the girls get together! Anyway, there’s lasagne in the fridge, if you get hungry later’.

‘Thanks.’ he replied.

She leaned over to kiss him goodbye, but he rejected her. The thought of her red poison lips upon his, caused acid to circulate around his stomach. How can she go on acting day after day like she loves me; to put on this one mad hell of a show?

As she turned to leave, his heart fell to his feet. He grabbed her throat and pushed her against the bedroom wall. As his knuckles whitened she choked several times, drawing at her last breath as she grabbed at thin air with her hands. She slid to the floor, her eyes glided to the back of her head. Then life left her.

‘I’d rather see you dead, than with him.’ he said, walking away.

©2013.alittlebirdtweets

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Lovable Beast

From the corner of my eye, from the softness of my pillow, I see him sleeping; his mouth is ajar, silently breathing in dust motes that float erratically above the quilt. He looks peaceful, beautiful, somewhat angelic, in slumber; a wonderful contrast to the lovable beast that inhabits him, in consciousness. He opens his eyes; did he sense me looking at him, I wonder? Does he know I look at him this way every morning, and think such things? He smiles at me; the creases of middle-age have formed in the corners of his lips, the lips I would kiss, every morning, adoringly and without hesitance. We pillow-talk, reflect on our past, until the dust motes settle. We speak of our families, our friends and of our two beautiful teenage children – but our conversation always fails to lead to the one, difficult-to-ask, forever-grinding, question, Why have you been cheating on me?

©2012.alittlebirdtweets

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Lydia

Lydia, as I sit in our garden, I am reminded of you. The orange-blossom scent of the tree, the one you planted two years ago, does so echo the deceitful musky fragrance of your skin. I wonder if the roots have consumed your ashes, and if your scent has been carried up through the branches to be radiated out through the buds. The thought of your scent fusing with the Spring oxygen, leaves me sickly. Tomorrow, at dawn, I shall chop the tree; that once was a symbol of our love. John.

©2012.alittlebirdtweets.

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