G'day friends.
The last six months have had their own challenges and, in some ways, it seems such a short time since I posted here.
I have been working on my short story writing skills and hopefully improving. I do appreciate the comments left on the site as well as in person, so thank you.
Secret Passions.
The hall clock chimed nine; it was Antony’s favourite day of the week and his favourite time of day. Time to retreat to the loft above the bedroom where a new package that arrived this morning, waited for his eager fingers to untie the string. They were an old-fashioned company still using brown paper and string and Antony had been dealing with them for years.
His anticipation built with each step on the attic ladder; what was in store for him tonight? The solitude wrapped him in its arms as Antony stepped up into his private space. The package sat undisturbed on the table beside his armchair, the curling ends of the string called to be tugged just right in order to be undone without the knot getting tangled. Antony flexed his fingers in preparation; in truth it was the anticipation that excited him just as much as the act of handling the contents. The string came away beautifully, his pleasure jarred by the screech of the harridan who called herself his wife.
He ignored the interruption, opening the paper wrapping to expose his latest acquisition. No. it wasn’t Popular Mechanics or Psychology Today but two paperbacks that he was to review. Two books. He might be a little longer tonight, he salivated at the thought, the small Penguin-sized volumes fitted neatly in his sweaty palms. The front covers deserved attention: tonight, a ruddy-faced, square-jawed hero sitting on a cliff-face staring into the ocean. However, there was no rosy-cheeked beauty wrapped in his embrace, he was alone. Antony drew his box of tissues closer. Just in case.
His pulse raced as he turned to chapter one. As he read, Antony suspected that this story wouldn’t have a happy ending and it wasn’t possible for him to vicariously become the lover of the beautiful girl. His own love story ended some years ago when his wife had turned into her mother. While the publisher assured him that he wasn’t alone among men, Antony felt unable to share his secret passion for romance novels with his wife since, from their first meeting, she declared a love of the writing of Kurt Vonnegut.
Comments
Post a Comment