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Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Death · #1723259
A look at the family and the responsibilities of an unfortunate wife towards her husband.
A Title of Some Truth


I remember back to my youth. Skipping stones across the lake. What a delightful memory. My father would look out over me, a smile painted across his face; admiring the youthful vigour of the Brickshaw name. I'd be there with my sleeves rolled up, my trousers pulled to my knees and I'd entertain the local aquatic life as my esteemed guests. The small fish dancing beneath me, loyal subjects of the family. They would dart back and forth with the busy mundaneness of the working stock. I the young heir stood still; an overseer of the order. A noble knight charged with a simple task. To continue the family name and maintain the cornerstone of British life. Jesus to my shepherd father, I readily accepted my inherent duty.

Of course I regret what happened. I loved Martha. But to love a seedless flower is a tragic thing. Beauty without continuation, what a paradox this is. Beauty must be timeless. That is why I did what I did. Martha offered me no heir, only love. Love without a viable purpose. A medicine which offered relief but no cure. I don't quite know what makes me write this, but it must be said. I consist of ageing stock. My grey hair thins, lacking the dignity it once held. Soon my family will crumble to dust. I, the final chapter. The book will be closed. So here I leave my final truth. A title of some honesty to mark this novel of corruption.

Martha is dead, and by my hands. It had been years and still she stayed pure, even after the most rotten acts. She was empty. I approached her to talk, say we would try again. Her clear skin, beautifully highlighted beneath her blonde fringe. She was clean. Unsullied. And I loathed her for this.

“ A women is to a man, either a goddess or a wolf,”.

Oh, what truth Webster spoke. But better a wolf, a creature of the family; something to offer me a pack of my own than a goddess. A goddess within whom a man's tears could rear no life. So with the taste of “winter plums” my goddess fell. But still she lay before me. Her touch, her feel. Still so  sweet with all the purpose it held before...
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