Freedom

I’ve been drowning in a sea of real life for the last few weeks and haven’t been able to catch all my usual prompt addictions but Friday has arrived and calm is somewhat restored so here is this weeks Haibun Thinking Challenge. Haibun is a Japanese literary form that combines one or more paragraphs of your written narrative (prose) with a concentrated (short) poem – the haiku. Hai stands for haiku, bun stands for prose. It’s a great way of getting your creative juices flowing, why don’t you follow the link and have a go.

This week’s film prompt is

Golly, did I hear you say you would be free if you could?

Gussy the Goose, Charlotte’s Web (2006)

Watching from the window, her face pressed tightly against the glass, a misty layer of breath trails against the pane. The cool moisture, like ink beneath her skin, as she fuses swirl after swirl with her fingertip, before blowing a little harder widening her canvas. Outside, the rain is still falling; rivulets of water that run down the side of the road and splash almost knee high off the pavement.

She taps at the raindrops from the inside out. She’s calmer now, her breathing steadier, almost normal. All that shouting, the noise, the pain in her head that brought on the blackness. There was no noise now. The stillness was insistent; continual, unyielding, almost suffocating her in darkness. Veiled echoes of blackness swam in her ears. She felt like she was drowning in a sea of shame; a tearful reproach against the blood red stain on the floor behind.

She wrapped her arms around her chest and shivered. A comforting sense of release enveloped her senses. She moved back from the window, stepped over his body and went to the kitchen. Taking out a mug from the cupboard she spooned in a teaspoon of instant coffee and plugged in the kettle. She picked up a damp wash cloth and swiped over some crumbs on the drainer. Her foot hit the pedal bin and she dropped the cloth into it. Spotting an empty can of tomatoes she reminded herself to get another few tins when she went shopping.

She sat at the table, warming both hands around the mug and studied the body lying prostrate in the lounge. For twenty four years she’d dreamt of this. She’d prayed every night before she went to bed and woke every morning praying God had been listening. This morning she’d finally realised that God had enough on his plate and she’d have to create her own miracle. It was a shame about the knife though. She’d have to get rid of the whole set now. They were sterling silver and razor sharp, could cut through meat like butter. Even toughened old boot leather she thought. Anyway better get on; they’re coming to lay the concrete at 3.00.

A woman scorned,

Is a miscalculation,

Death is set in stone.