By Shan Ellis
She was staring out of the window again, looking lackadaisically at the browning leaves dancing and clinging on to dear life on their mothering twigs.
“It won’t bring him back, I’m sorry but it won’t”
I’m sure the apathy in my voice sounded forced, perhaps even faked, but I couldn’t help it.
I was hurting too.
He had been my friend, the only one I could rely on since childhood. I’d had more than a little touch of the green eyed monster when he’d introduced me to the petite brunette who now sat zombie-like in the armchair with a cup of almost-too-cold-to-drink tea. She was too docile, too cow-eyed, far too weak for him.
Parting her lips as if to say something, I clung blindly to the silence that hung between us. Both mourning over the same man in very different ways.
“He’s not gone,”she whispered throatily.
Turned my back on her and headed for the whisky in the kitchen cabinet.
Stupid little girl.
“God damn you” I hissed to the ether. Hoping that he was around to hear me. At that moment in time it hurt so much just to think. I knew why I was so furious.
She wasn’t me.
Shan Ellis is a freelance writer from the foothills of Snowdonia, now living in Norfolk. She is currently studying for a BA in creative writing and literature with the Open University. A published novellist and poet, you can find more of her work at www.repressedsoul.wordpress.com
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