Under her breath, Katherine grumbled. Moaning all morning about her disinterest in going to Chinatown fell on deaf ears. She hadn’t come to New York City to see food markets, commercial stands filled with counterfeit designer items, or inhaling scents from so many restaurants. She cringed from nausea.
Traveling with Charles was always a problem.
Katherine was looking forward to cultural places like the MOMA museum or a Central Park carriage ride.
You’ll enjoy the chaos was his reply when she questioned his itinerary. Let’s compromise, stay an hour.
In February, we had another photo prompt from Dale Rogerson. Since this week we’re having an encore of another of her wonderful photos, I thought I would continue my first Flash Fiction story called Dying Love. If you missed reading it click on the title; although, the stories are independant of each other. Thanks for popping by … Isadora
She sat on the chaise lounge, watching the droplets of rain slide down the window.
Her eyes were swollen and red from the tears she’d shed for hours. Time didn’t exist.
A blank space permeated where there used to be laughter between him and her.
Now, he was gone.
Why?
The police were kind but seemed suspicious. The paramour is always suspect.
Yes, they were opposites in many ways, but he was gentle, kind, and conscientious of her likes.
Color me a Rainbow, Sprinkled with golden dreams with dashes of wishes of purple, blues and green.
Color me a Heaven, With cotton-candy clouds, amid a sky of azure blue.
Color me sweet red roses, kissed by a fresh morning dew.
Color me some raindrops, with splashes of misty-crystal hue and wet blades of silky-green grass to run barefoot through.
Color me lofty trees, dressed in autumn’s shades of gold, Clusters of scarlet and brown leaves on the ground, as the seasons unfold.
Color me a white winter land, with whistling winds and whirling sounds. Snowflakes flying in the crisp-cool air. Then color me right into a verdant green, spring where robins sing without a care.
Color me back to summer, beneath a lemon yellow sun. Then color me a silver moon, and a black starlit night when the day is done.
Welcome – make yourself at home. Pick a pretty cup or mug for coffee, hot chocolate, or herbal tea. Sit in a comfy chair so we can chat.
There is no preparation or test assignment nor hint to prepare us for certain things in this world.
We hear stories of tragedies. Usually, it’s someone else’s family.
No one expects it’s going to be theirs. No one prepares for death and, then, it happens.
The dreaded phone call or, as in my case, a letter which brings our carefully crafted house of calm and stability, crashing down with one single statement, ‘I’m sorry’.
Sorry … and, you wonder why they are sorry.
Sorry … about the fact they could not save the person.
Sorry … that they have to be the person to bringbad news to you.
Sorry … for the departure of your loved one from this world.
There is no preparation, no practice.
In that moment, you either walk across the broken shards feeling the loss with every stinging sensation or, you stare unmoving, long and hard at the broken pieces. Nothing can prepare you for that split-second reaction.
Either you grieve, or you don’t.
It’s a sad time for me.
My brother, George Anthony Diaz Maisonet was born December 8, 1957.
He died December 01, 2020. He was born with a brain disability called Hydrocephalus. He lived with my mother until she pass away in 2010.
Lucy was his caretaker/companion until she became ill and could not care for him. Shortly after, the government placed him in a sanatorium. They did not notify the family of his death.
When he died his body was sent to a medical school for students to explore his illness and study his organs. It felt overwhelming when I first read this in the letter. I’ve come to accept that he is helping people from suffering the life he led with their research. It’s a consolation to know he is now with his beloved mother and father.
R.I.P. George 🙏🏻
Reach out and touch someone with LOVE today ... Isadora 😎
“You’re mad, it’s snowing. Plus, we might get snowed in,” she said.
He loved spontaneity.
She didn’t.
Come on! We’ll walk the beach, shiver, then run to the warm flames of the fire left behind in the fireplace. We’ll sip champagne, eat chocolate strawberries as we warm. Besides, you aren’t able to resist my yearn for you.
~~~~~~~~~
She watched icy waves hit the shore from the balcony.
Just moments before, they’d laid close in each others’ arms, relishing the passion of their lovemaking.
The fading red roses near the flames emulated his death.
