Sitting on the cold double bed she wrapped her arms around herself and hugged the remnants of her life.
In the half-light she studied the odd shapes the clothes made strewn around on the beige carpet. The same way she used to see shapes in the clouds on a fine summers day. This time she saw only the monsters of her memories. A gargoyle here, a Bahamut there. Burning into the plush carpet with its disjointed hands.
Suddenly and painfully aware of the chill in the room she hugged tighter. Her pyjama shorts riding up her legs, the smoothness of her skin causing her anger. Hot tears welling in her eyes in stark contrast to the coolness of her cheek. She wished to be as stone. Unfeeling and uncaring, but mostly hardened. But she knew all too well that her emotions never took a day off.
Placing her cheek on her knee, she looked first at the empty space next to her on the bed and then over to the half closed curtains, concentrating solely on the little weak light thrown by the corona of the setting sun.
Her life, in ruins.
A short excerpt from a story I’m working on for a Welsh magazine.
Throw some ideas at me it may be nice to re write a different story in English!