The curtain
In the evening the curtain recounts its day. Faces, images, incidents it has observed from the window. Its voice is nuanced, modulated, quivering, for it is made of lace. It appears to crochet its words with needle sounds. My eyes, during confinement, are not wide open, not enough to look outside my thoughts. This evening, being already late, the curtain frightens me. It tells me in an altered voice that it has seen a ball, crowned with thorns, touching the window at midday and looking inside through its white lace stitches. I can no longer listen and I move away.
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Author's Note
A coronavirus small piece during my confinement.
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Other stories by Erika Byrne-Ludwig
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Well describes a fearful mood that many would relate to given these uncertain times. Also congrats on having this piece validated by that interesting site.
"...not enough to look outside my thoughts." I know the feeling all too well.
A perfectly balanced piece--
"Its voice is nuanced, modulated, quivering, for it is made of lace. It appears to crochet its words with needle sounds."
Good writing. *
I love that opening line. After an opening like that, I could keep reading for as long as it went on. Really good writing *
"... touching the window at midday and looking inside..."
Lovely piece, careful.
mysterious. *
To everyone, thank you.
I can't get "needle sounds" out of my mind! A strong piece.
Thank you, Bill.
Whoa, creepy. Nice.
Yes, a bit creepy ... Thanks Steven.
I love the way you are able to take something so ordinary and turn it into something so strongly felt.
Not that the coronavirus is "ordinary" but, yes, as you do it so well yourself, we can manipulate things, can't we? Thank you Kitty.
so very glad... x congrats x