Emerald
The handkerchief of increasing despair lies in her sweaty
palm, charting her demise. Those in the shadows know it won’t be long and they
shift in the cluttered boudoir, avoiding the burgundy, pink, ivory and pale
blue bodices and skirts of their friend, their lover, their employee.
Emerald still manages to draw them to her, as she always
has. As this place, probably, always will. Her chalk white fingers encircle the
material as she brings it to her mouth, those sounds breaking the silence of
waiting. It’s now more than blots that plan her final path; gone are the
ladybirds of blood that signalled the beginning of the end. Huge countries map
themselves onto the handkerchief, stains of where she has been. Is one of them
where she is going? Is heaven or hell depicted among the blemishes her insides
thrust out of her? Would she be able to tell the difference?
Canto moves forward and pushes down on her shoulders as the
heaving subsides. The pillows and cushions welcome her back. Emerald remembers
she is wearing her favourite dress. She has been wearing it for three days. She
remembers Majorie putting her into it after the priest’s visit. It still makes
her feel ready. She closes her eyes and hopes it isn’t too stained for whatever
is coming next.
Canto stays next to her and takes her hand. She knows he will
be the last to leave after everyone else has gone; back to their rooms, their
stages, the work that awaits them. Time is money, she has always understood
that. Canto will continue to hold her hand afterwards, talk to her, stroke her
face, kiss her eyes – her eyes which gave her her name. He will stay with her
and among her things, the lace, the little china cups she treasures.
One last breath. Treasured.
And he does stay, holding on to the moment where, finally,
he has her to himself; his pure, beautiful Emerald whom everyone loved but no
one could keep.
Brilliantly heartbreaking. Beautiful. Thank you for sharing this!
ReplyDeleteAwww, thanks for the kind comment and read Joe!
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