Strong, sugary
Title: Strong, sugary
Fandom: None, original fic
Rating: PG
Word count: 288
Summary: The naked feet were brown from mud and gravel, the legs scratched. But her breath was calm, maybe she even smiled. Why didn't she scream?
She leaned against an edge of a table, her hands holding a steady hold of the table top. The washed out red dress hanged loosely around the body. She was barefoot. Why was she barefoot? The naked feet were brown from mud and gravel, the legs scratched. But her breath was calm, maybe she even smiled. Why didn't she scream? In the doorway stood a shadow, a silhouette. The silhouette was a man. He didn't breathe, he saw. He imbibed, he smiled. Why didn't she scream?
On the table lay a blue and white checkered oilcloth and in a glass vase stood half withered yellow flowers, forming a bouquet that, a couple of days ago, probably had been stout and fresh. Perhaps it still had been wet from dew when the flowers where put into the water. Perhaps, during the breakfast, some drops had rolled off of the leaves to fall down onto the oilcloth, onto a blue square. Perhaps toast had been eaten around the table. Toast with marmalade and a glass of chocolate. How many people where there? Was she alone at that time? There was no history. There was always now. The past was a gift that never came.
The dress was whole where her legs had wounds. But the wounds weren't washed and the gravel on her feet left smears on the kitchen floor. At the tap she came to a halt. The water was curling itself. Like snakes, like fog. The fog filled the room and at once the silhouette was out of sight. But the knowledge that he hadn't moved an inch made the room smaller and the air into undiluted syrup. Strong, sugary. What would it be to breathe undiluted syrup?