todays very short story - 112411 - Loneliness enveloped Wenelyn in a blanket of darkness which gave no warmth, a blanket she drew ever tighter around herself until becoming a nearly invisible singularity. It was thusly cloaked that she arrived at the party where every cheery welcome extinguished by degrees any heat left inside her. Wanting every moment to leave, but too dejected to make good on even her own plans, she found herself at the Thanksgiving dinner table. A table adorned with gleaming silver, animated candles and holiday white table linens that became a crucifix to her vampiric breast. Steaming turkey was piled on each guests plate and one after another dishes of cheery vegetables, potatoes and gravy were passed.. from which she made token withdrawals. Little Cecily then came to a precarious halt at her side and recoiled in place, from a spirited traverse. The childs bouncing threatened the tenuous hold she had upon her offering, a bouncing amplified in an outrageously red and wiggling cylinder of cranberry sauce, whose surface, glossily ridged, betrayed a coldly canned provenance. Cold, canned and as untouched by loving hands as her own heart, the surprise of making the acquaintance with this translucently artificial, glistening absurdity forced Wendelyns lips into an exploratory but, at least for that Thanksgiving day, infectious smile.
Posted on: Wed, 26 Nov 2014 13:21:08 +0000