{This is a response to a prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ Friday Fictioneers challenge. We are tasked to write 100 words, inspired by the picture. Thanks for the prompt. And thank you, everyone, who takes the time to stop by and read!}
My bed is angled, to better appreciate the view.
Granny’s lace trims the window. Disgracefully bleached: I can’t abide that yellow stench of cigarettes.
The lace will perish prematurely. But then, so will I.
My condition, like Granny’s gaspers, is an engraved invitation:
To Death: Requesting the Honor of Your Presence.
My nurse shuffles around my confinement, tidying. Offering ice and oxygen. A drip. Tranquility.
The moon climbs my blue mountain, rising lazily, through twilight haze.
In poppy dreams, I climb, too. Up and up its stately slopes. Until my clutching bones release me to the clouds.
Wonderfully written story, Andrea. It’s moving testimony to how bad cigarettes are for one’s health but also how addictive they are. Parts of it reads like poetry. Beautifully done!
Thanks!
A brilliant touching piece
Thank you Dahlia.
Sad conditions perfectly described. I was there in that room among the stench!
Thank you Dawn. Im sure there are many other places we would all rather be. ?
Wow, this was excellent on many levels. You outdid yourself this week.
Thanks Russell!
So beautiful and poetic. Who knew that my cheap mass-production curtain would be so popular? The line about the bleach reminds me of my dad who used to be a chain smoker. Our curtains were always yellowish. Your narrator welcomes death, still, it doesn’t really sound like acceptance, more like resignation.
I think you may be right gah. The idea that the curtain was deliberately placed in an otherwise drab and functional room( from what we can see anyway) makes us wonder why.
Nice photo–i think the mystery metal to the left of the window takes a nice photo of the moon to a new level.
I commute and live in a tiny flat for three days in a week in the town where I work. The rest of the week I’m at home. The window is in that flat. The metal is a contraption that lowers and rises the blinds/shutters outside the window. The curtain is merely there to prevent birds from flying into the window. The other metal thing is part of my desk lamp. All very profane, I’m afraid. 🙂
Its funny how what looks familiar and orrdinary to you can provoke such a variety of responses. It reminds me of the baby shower game, where you each bring a baby picture of yourself and then try to figure out whose is whose.
This is the third story about dying… I especially loved the way you included the lace…
Thank you Bjorn. Its funny how things so unlike can sometimes intersect.
Love deaths invitation. Nice touch. The thought of dying early is very saddening.
Thanks JoHawk. Wish i had more fonts! Enjoyed the stories on your site and look forward to seeing your at Friday Fictioneers!
So cleverly constructed. Your prose rises from reality to poetic via the narrator’s poppy dreams – that’s a great phrase, by the way. Wonderful story.
Thanks Jilly. I do imagine an in and out of consciousness kind of experience.
(this is prior)
Oh dear. I think my gravatars may be going on the fritz. Sorry prior!
oh no worries – and wishing you a good day
The descriptions in this piece are wonderful.
Thanks so much Lisa!
I can relate to the stench of stale cigarettes smoked indoors. They remind me of my grandparents like in the story, very comforting. Its fitting I’m reading this before going to bed.
Thanks Jacob. Glad you found it relatable.
Thank you Michael! I think this peaceful departure probably follows many months of suffering.
A touching story, nicely done.
Dear Andrea,
This piece is all kinds of stunning. The invitation from Death gets an 11 out of 10 from me. Touchingly wonderful.
Shalom,
Rochelle
Thank you bundles, Rochelle. My ego is on a total high ( not morphine-induced. ).
The original version of the story on Word has a different font for the centered line from the “invitation”:a font typical of wedding invitations. I think it was called “Monotype Cursive”.
The effect did not come out as nice on my theme, which has limited fonts that I have discovered.
A moment of sadness but full of contentment of a fulfilled life. Well written.
I have a feeling he or she ( i failed to specify, again, all caught up in the wording) has climbed that mountain before. ?
There are worse ways to go than drifting away in a morphine-induced haze, I guess.
True Draliman, although under normal circumstances (death not being imminent) we should probably all Just Say No. ?.
I have to agree with Penny. Beautiful phrasing, lovely story, even if it is heralding her death.
Thanks Dale. I don’t start out with a plan. The white lace reminded me of inherited linens that had changed to a brownish yellow over time, but might disintegrate if anything as strong as bleach touched them.
It seemed ironic, but very human to me, fussing to personalize a room you might only inhabit a short time.
But the line connecting the short life of both lace and the narrator was one of the last revisions and went through several iterations in wording once I lit upon it.
What a lot of delightful details!
“The lace will perish prematurely. But then, so will I.”
“To Death: Requesting the Honor of Your Presence.”
“poppy dreams”
“Until my clutching bones release me to the clouds.”
Lovely stuff, Andi!
Aim to please, Ma’am!
Lovely
Thank Neil!
Beautifully written story! Loved it.
Susan A Eames at
Travel, Fiction and Photos
Thank you Susan.