Opus on 1st: Yellow

So, here goes nothing!  If you have your own Opus on 1st piece to share, please post a link to it in the comments section! 



He is silent at the table, staring down at the place setting.  She had thought it a good idea, but the China seems a mockery. 

She knows he knows.

The roast is warm, and the potatoes too, but still she is chilled by his strange presence.  If only he would just seem as distant as usual.  This odd attending splits her nerves like firewood.  The facts she’d recited like a rosary for the last six months trip like dominos. 

It’s fine, she reassures herself, taking a seat across from him.  It wasn’t wrong.  It couldn’t have been wrong when it’s been so long.  

She helps herself, and the serving spoon is shaking in her fingers.  Shit.  He continues to stare at his empty plate.  She wants him to speak—

—until he does. 

It’s her name, and it’s a whisper, and the quiet resignation of it seems to break apart every dish on the table, seems to shatter her eardrums.  How can a whisper have such talons?

It couldn’t have been wrong, not when it’s been so long.  Not when he cared more about the newspaper, the dry cleaning, the dog. 

The damn dog.

She wishes it was last week—last week, when everything was so perfect and she’d felt such freedom.  She had owned herself.  And now, today … she wants absolution.  Instead, his eyes are accusations, but not like bullets, more like questions.

“I forgot the wine,” she mutters, getting up from the table and going into the kitchen.  She comes back with the bottle, reaches for his glass, and with a shaky hand, she pours the white wine that is not really white but yellow.

5 thoughts on “Opus on 1st: Yellow

  1. Pingback: Opus on 1st | Musings from a Wardrobe

  2. Pingback: Opus on 1st – Yellow | Plotting Bunnies

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