Creative Writing, Flash Fiction

Free

I placed my wine glass down before me. It clinked on the marble floor. Then there was silence again, and crakling.  The residue of the grape blood shimmered in the light of the open flames dancing wildly just beyond the brick placement in the wall. I rubbed my naked leg along the fur rug beneath me and licked my fingers. The crisp sound of the pages. My bible.

It had been a while, but not too long. I hadn’t had peace like this since, before I was married and then again just after the divorce. Inner peace is something that has always been so important to me. To me, it equates to freedom.

I did have freedom, but I couldn’t use it to my advantage. Now that would be wrong, I know that. So I didn’t,  at least not intentionally. It just happened that way. I was the happier one, and it made him unhappy. So unhappy, I was free and he was trapped in this unhappiness.

I am not entirely sure why it had to happen that way. But I am okay. It was my choice too, to end his pain. He left me all the good things.

He left me. He said, “I love you pet. But I’ve ruined you. I’ve lost you. I must go and let you be free.”

I was like a bird, he said, that had flown into a beautiful, medium sized room. And immediately the windows fell shut. At first I stood in a corner and examined everything, then slowly I stepped out of the corner. Once I had made it to the center of the room, I began to fly. I fell. I tried again. I fell. I tried again. I bumped backwards and forwatds off of the walls and panic set sharply in my puffed up little chest. I squarked and screamed and flew and bumped and fell. I had lost so many feathers, so much strength, but with that weakness only came louder, more painful shrieks.

And eventually he was so utterly dismayed with his new pet. He smashed through the windows and let her go. He did love her. How beautiful her songs were, when she was calm and kept to the corner he had prepared for her. But when she stretched her wings, the troubles began. But can you blame her for doing that which she was made to do?

I was okay. Besides the fact that I had wandered off with my thoughts again, and forgot completely about the fire and the wine and the bible.

I was standing on my porch, looking out into the face of the moon. I pulled my blanket tight over my shoulders. In all that darkness it still shone so brightly. The waves tumbled roughly in the wind, asking for me. I went out to them. I went.

I am a wanderer.

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