I don’t remember his face. It should be easy, being married for almost 45 years. When we were younger, he was a good looking man; good enough for this stray-dog town. He teased me that he had a string of women hanging from his suit pocket. I guess I never cared for that. He was never that good looking. But he could tell a joke, and he could take one, so I expect I should too.
I don’t remember his face. I recall certain features of it. The arch of his mouth when he smiled. His nose, twice broken, from when he worked over at the granary. His ears, the way they peaked out from behind that mop of hair. I swear, you’d never know he was leaning into his seventies. It was always so bushy, no matter how much he wet it back. He was vain about his hair, but never mind. Everyone has a vanity, and that was his.
I don’t remember his face. I remember his eyes, that solemn shade of green. Something sad about that color, melancholy, though I couldn’t tell you why. That particular green, like summer ready to turn. I can still see him working the garden, harvesting the last of the tomatoes, wearing that damned floppy straw hat of his. He knew – we both knew – he looked ridiculous, but that was our private joke. And when he turned around to face me, those eyes always caught me off guard. “Golly, Mary, you startled me,” he’d say, no matter how loud I approached. And we would laugh.
I don’t remember his face. I recall the scar on his chin, and the wrinkles on his forehead when he worried about things he wouldn’t confess. And oh, how his cheeks felt, so soft and whiskery as my hands tried to smooth them.
I don’t remember his face, but I remember his hands around my throat. The strength of his fingers. Choking and choking until I could taste the darkness in my throat.
I don’t remember his face, but I will. And when he says, “Golly, Mary, you startled me,” he’ll mean it. And I will laugh alone.
***
Note: Just a simple flash fiction piece I thought up on my way home from work tonight. My wife and I been watching episodes of the original Twilight Zone every weekend since Christmas, so I suppose there’s a bit of influence there. Or maybe it’s just me. This was fun to write — grim, of course — but fun. 🙂
Wonderful writing as always. Steven. It was unfolding so nicely, like a love story, and then… great twist! Flash fiction is really fun. 😀
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It practically wrote itself on my drive home. Nothing fancy, but definitely fun! 🙂
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I sense the muse shaking off the dust of winter 🙂
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Maybe that’s it. 🙂
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The talent you have for detailed description has once again enriched your writing, Steven. I would guess the husband is suffering violent episodes of dementia toward the last. An excellent ending twist. —- Suzanne
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Thank you, Suzanne. I had fun writing it. 🙂
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Steven, oh yes, this is deliciously grim. I thought it was rather ‘safe’ for you as I started reading but you built up the suspense well with the repetition ‘I don’t remember his face’ phrase. Didn’t see the end coming…loved it!
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Thank you, Annika. I always enjoy the final ‘twist’ at the end of a story. I’m glad you liked it. 🙂
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brilliant hooked me right away
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Thank you!
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This was a great read, Steve! I have not been on Word Press much and am glad to have seen it.
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Thank you, Jane. I hope you’re doing well. 🙂
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Yes, doing well! 🙂
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Twilight Zone-worthy, warped and disturbing. So sweet, so nostalgic, sudden turn to the left and it smacks you in the face.
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Thank you. Not too hard, I hope. 🙂
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Hard enough to send a low voltage shock through an entire nervous system. 😉
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🙂
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“That particular green, like summer ready to turn.” I love this description of green eyes. Very good.
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Thank you. 🙂
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