This Night Has Opened My Eyes

The following piece of writing is inspired by the film Up, which nearly made me cry. No fucking joke. It hasn't got a title.

Her husband goes out. He doesn't bother to ease the front door shut. He just leaves it to slam, shacking the foundations of the house. She jumps with expectant shock. Her eyes stay wide open, like a new born baby's, seeing the world for the first time. Only when she hears him drive away does she blink. She sits for a moment longer, thinking no thoughts.

Standing up, she walks through the hall. She glances up at the empty stairs. She climbs, it should be a struggle, but it isn't. It's too easy and that's what makes it too hard. Edging the door in front of her open slowly, she steps lightly inside. She eases the door softly shut.

She starts to stare with wide moist eyes again. A new cot sits before her, polished and painted, taking pride of place in the centre of the room. It's perfect, like in those TV shows, magazines and dreams.

She feels her stomach.

She feels the hunger within.

She feels dead inside.

Her only nourishment comes from the salty tears trickling, creeping down her cheek.

In the kitchen she searches through cupboards. She finds what she's looking for. She fumbles with the packet of cigarettes, so expertly hidden from her own personal patriarch. She lights the selected cigarette on the second attempt. She inhales and exhales, breathing heavily and consistently all the time. It doesn't matter now. The stress floats away with the smoke. But she knows, that as soon as the life of the ember is stubbed out, the pain is born again.