Katherine Havemeyer

A story about a young couple during the 1950s, who endure love, loss, and decay.

There was nothing more she desired out of life to see her love smile. The world, in her eyes, would perish if he were to disappear. His tender warmth radiated from every inch of his being - illuminating her heart with great dexterity.

"She's so beautiful.”

He lightly placed his hand on her shoulder.

It was an early spring day in the year 1952. The flowers, after a blistering winter, began to bloom again. An array of colours and fragrances cascaded among the landscape. The leaves reached towards the sky, signifying new life. A young man and woman, as fresh as the day, stood anxiously in line.

“Is this the right thing to do?” she questioned.

“Yes, I love you. Everything’s settled. I have the money and my sister is giving us everything we need.”

He kissed her forehead and touched her stomach.

“I love you.”

She remained silent, sheepishly smiling.

The marble floors of the city hall resonated the steady clicking of heels and the fast pace of conversations. For such a modest neighborhood, this place was grandiose. The young couple remained in line, extremely apprehensive. Neither alerted the other of their uneasy disposition. Both abandoned their prior lives at the age of eighteen. They were dressed in some of their finest clothing. The man wore a humble faded black tuxedo, as she wore a white beaded dress made of thin material. He had purchased a bouquet of lilacs and forget-me-nots for this special occasion. Mistakes were made, he promised to live up to these and care for her.

***

A mere seven years passed. Like the flowers of the early spring, their desire and adoration soon wilted. Their days droning to weeks, weeks droning to months, months droning to years. Each morning, like clockwork, they awoke in their rooms. He combed his dark hair and dressed, then waited at the kitchen table, expecting to be fed. She freshened up and prepared his meal. They sat hauntingly in silence. He held the early paper to his face, never looking at her. Once the paper was read, he precisely folded it and quietly went to work. Their home echoed with loneliness. She slowly swayed about, as usual, wallowing with her solitude and escaping by way of novels. At the time, she was infatuated with the beauty of Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca. The passion of du Maurier’s characters was something she lusted for. Hours were spent fleeing to this world - fleeing away from the misery of reality.

Years ago, bliss existed.

Years ago, she expected the undying love of her husband and child.

Years ago, she learned to expect nothing.

Their anticipated child had ceased to be born. Three months after their wedding day, they lost what bonded them. It was a simple afternoon, as she remembered - there wasn't a peculiar thing. Her mundane rituals of cleaning and reading were nothing out of the ordinary. However, for a split moment, her stomach plunged to the ground. Pain struck everywhere. Her memories of that horrific day had be stricken. Yet, she forever visualized blood streaming down her leg. Neither knew what caused this, but he resented her because of it.

***

Unbeknownst to her, her husband returned home. As per usual, he said nothing and resided in the living room. Much like a cadaver, he sat there, motionless. She swore to herself he still loved her - the days where he showed his love were the ones she longed for.

“There’s gotta be something I can do.”

From her closet, she pulled out a pastel, eyelet dress. Graceful streams of blue decorated the waist and bust. The dress was still wrapped in the original plastic, for it never had been worn. A slight tug pulled her wispy auburn hair out of a chignon. She perfectly applied a rosy lipstick and blush.

“He’ll see me and think I’m beautiful. He’ll see me and remember he loves me!”

From around the corner, she watched her husband, mustering up the courage to strike up a conversation. He motionlessly sat, with his mouth slightly agape, bewitched by the television. She gradually walked towards the back of the couch, still watching her husband.

“Hello,” she peeped from behind.

He said nothing.

“Uhm…sweetie?”

Not a word.

“There…there…there was something I wanted to ask you?”

The television continued to flicker as she spoke.

“… can you look at me for a sec?”

Nothing.

She patiently waited, nervously playing with her hands. A tear started to roll down her cheek.

“Is this…is this really our life?” she spoke under her breath.

“He doesn't love me.”

Pure manic and rage engulfed her innocent mind. The rosy world had turned violent red. She scurried with great haste to the kitchen. Each drawer contained a plethora of plausible weapons. Frantically, she chose a pair of metal scissors and ran to the bathroom.

The door slammed behind her. Between gasps of air, she hysterically wept as her mind became flooded with questions, starving for affection and purpose.

“Why? Why?! WHY? WHYYY?!” she internally screamed.

“My life drones on and on… I have… nothing”

The emptiness began to kill her.

With glossy eyes, she glimpsed into the bathroom mirror. A pair of metal scissors, still grasped in her hand. She gazed at her reflection. Years of loss and regret read on her face. An empty shaking hand brushed against her lips. She gently pulled her bottom lip and lifted the scissors. As the scissors began to snip, blood trickled from her wound. The scissors lowered to the counter. She drew attention down to her wedding ring. The ring was now dull and meaningless.

“You loved me… you said you loved me… you gave me this ring… you... this ring… means nothing.”

She attempted to pull it off. All the relentless tries quickly failed; the ring was trapped on her finger. Deep panic reigned throughout. The scissors scowled at her from the counter top, doused in blood. Suddenly, the scissors split open and slid down her arm. A swift incision at last liberated her. Blood poured and poured.

***

She feebly stumbled into her bedroom - the blood still seeping from her wounds. The room was a dark blur as it slowly spun. This was nothing like she had remembered twenty minutes prior. With all her strength, she staggered towards a nightstand. A trail of blood behind her. In the top drawer, something crumbled and folded laid. She slowly inspected every crease of the object. Some writing - in a corner, nearly incomprehensible - stated a date. After letting out a sigh, she unfolded it. A single tear caressed her face. The tear possessed eternal bliss, melancholy, remorse. Their wedding photo stared directly at her. She adorned a gaudy white dress in which she hated. But he cherished the way it clung to her dainty figure.

"I hate this dress," she recalled, "I look positively unsightly in this!"

"Nothing about you could ever be even the least unsightly," he paused, "You are so beautiful and nothing will ever change that."

Her husband gleamed beside her. His hand firmly and lovingly grabbed hers. His hand alone showed all the passion he had once had for her. She tightly pressed their photo to her heart.

"I'm dying," she placed the photo on the nightstand.

Begrudgingly, she slid off her ring and set it on the photo

"I'm dying," as the blood gently dripped from her mouth.

In the next-room, her husband sluggishly lay, mindlessly gazing at the television. She haltingly peeked around the corner and saw the back of his head.

"I will never see his face again. His once kind eyes will be gone forever, our lips will never touch"

Her pale dress was now painted red. The room spun and spun around as she limped toward the sofa. Without much care, he glanced over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of his mutilated wife.

"Oh my God!" he blurted as he ran to her side. Her limp body fell into his arms.

She rested in his touch as her cadaver felt his warmth once more. He gently lowered himself and her body to the ground. He gaped at her face with an ethereal sense of wonder. Her skin, pale and numb, had been tainted. An alabaster complexion now daubed with her blood. Her husband lovingly stared at her, and then blind-sided by penance and sorrow. He had once loved this woman.

"What happened?" he questioned himself. "At what point did our love decay and wither to misery?"

His heart quickly plummeted. Suddenly, he grabbed her corpse and clutched it to his chest. Her hair became wet with his tears. He cried for the loss of time. He cried for the waste of love. Their love, once a billowing blossom, decayed into nothingness.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered as he stroked her mouth.

He kissed her with the passion he had left.

© 2015 Madeleine Acton

My Review

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Reviews

John Alexander McFadyen

You set the time and scene and describe the characters and their change of circumstances well in this sad tale.

Posted 9 Years Ago

9 Years Ago

Thank you kindly

AaronFreitas

This is beautifully written my friend. I wanted more which is a compliment :) Good work my friend

Posted 9 Years Ago

9 Years Ago

Well thank you! I'm currently working on a much, much longer story. Stay tuned ;-)

sinNsincerity

Wow amazing write and how the emptiness inside of us can kill.
I really enjoyed this Madeleine!

Posted 9 Years Ago

9 Years Ago

Thank you! Emptiness is a disease that withers you from the inside out. I ache for those who are lon.. read more

613

Wow . . . I have read many stories on here. But no one has been able to make me cry; you did. Absolutely beautiful story. However, I didn't want it to end! You really could make this into a long story. But if not, it truly is perfect the way it is. Amazing job!

XO, Brittney