A Word Left Unspoken

Just something I wrote with the prompt 'a word left unspoken'.


1. A Word Left Unspoken

She looked down at me, her nose twitching slightly at the unpleasant smell that cascaded around us. The wind blew softly, blowing her bright-red curls out of her face, behind her, as if she were an angel whom God had sent down.

            She wasn’t.

            She didn’t speak for a while. She just looked at me, her eyes looking sad, tired, and dry. The sun winked at me, reflected off her glasses. She never liked her glasses, but I never found anything wrong with them. They were just something that balanced on her nose, supported by the back of her ears. They didn’t mean anything to me.

            She looked down, breaking the intense eye-contact. A strand of hair fell in front of her face. I immediately missed looking into her deep, dark blue eyes, the blue that you’d imagine to be the sea encircling a lighthouse on a harsh, stormy day. I realised how hard it would be if I never got to look into the eyes again.

            I watched her throat as she swallowed. Her skin was pale, which contrasted against her bright coloured hair. She seemed to be a bizarre combination – startling pale skin, bright red hair and dark blue eyes. Some people would never class her as beautiful, but I certainly would. Her hands were small and the nails covered in what used to be a magnificent nail art she had got at a salon, in which I paid for. She didn’t realise she had no money on her. She hasn’t paid me back yet. I doubt she ever will.

            I listen to the raspy noise as she inhales deeply. It’s like the sea slowly hushing the sand to sleep, the soft ‘it’s going to be okay’ hush you’d give to your daughter when she’s worried.

            I knew that she would give that noise to her daughter. Although her daughter was out of the existence, I knew that she was there, somehow. I had no idea who the father is of her daughter, settled into her womb, refusing to leave for nine months. I hoped she was mine, but I knew that the probability of that was incredibly scarce.

            I don’t think she realised that she was carrying another life inside her. I was there when she found out, but I know she tries to forget it. I never talked to it about her; I never wanted to see her eyes sag even more than they already are.

            She looked back up at me, catching my gaze. She held my eye contact again, but somehow her eye colour had changed. I knew it wasn’t possible to have red eyes, but that’s how it felt like. I suddenly felt hot, like she was fire, burning and sizzling.

            The fire spat amber, hot on my skin. I allowed it to burn. She said nothing, which is what hurt more than her saying something. She did little but shrug, before she left away with the baby I wanted to be mine. The baby that would never be mine. And the baby that would probably never live long enough to watch the sun set and the sun rise in the next morning.

            I didn’t say goodbye.           

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