Within the wall

I am so lonely in here. So dispirited and weary. It has been three years, but it feels like ten lifetimes. Three years trapped inside the wall here, just behind the wine-red brocade that papers the bedroom where I died. The narrowness of the space does not allow me to sit – a plank presses at my shoulder blades in back, while in front, my nose grazes the board whose claret exterior contributes to the opulent design of the room. My movements are restricted to these pitiable two dimensions…a sideways inching in one direction or the other. Why has the Lord seen fit to punish me thus? Why has He given me unto this most bizarre and isolating of purgatories? I was caring and good, devoted to my husband. Anguish spreads (a slow poison), to the remote points of my being, but I cannot answer such questions.

My husband has taken a new wife, and I see her daily in the room; she rises and powders at my vanity in the morning, undresses and slips contentedly into bed at night. She is young, fair-skinned, fine-featured. She is there now, humming tunefully. I am not jealous of her youth or beauty or marriage to my husband. I only wish she could see me, that I might at last have a companion! For I die again, from the lengthy and lethargic suffocation of solitude.

She is facing me now, and I touch my palm to the board, imagining the glossy underside of the paper that coats it. Suddenly – she is moving towards me! Is the Lord finally going to ease my suffering? She comes up close to the wall where I am, and puts her hand out, gently fingering the fuzz of the pattern on the other side of my palm. I stare into the beryl-blue of her eyes for a sign of recognition. But there is none. Instead, she peels away a raised fleur-de-lys that had begun tearing from the background of its own accord. Then she turns, grabs her cape, and exits the room in a sprightly flourish of chiffon.

~ by kingzoko on October 15, 2013.

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