Stormy We-ther

She stood with her black face some six inches from the moist window-pane and wondered would it ever stop raining.

Alice’s hand outstretched on the open window feeling on her palm the raindrops that were as cold as her husband, Jim. Weather forecast announced that a storm was expected that night, she foreseen that a storm was already passing by in her life.

 

“It isn’t working, Alice. We can’t last”, Jim finally declared his retirement on a job that required love and time, two things that were forced to be coughed out from him.

 

Before the clouds started turning gray and dark, Alice spent her youthful days with mirth under the sun’s rays. Smiles, laughter – she had thought these were also present on those silver thread-like rains dropped by nimbus clouds. But when she stood in front of the altar with a stranger arranged for her marriage by their parents to compensate the ancient feud, heard the words: You are now husband and wife, she realized that threads usually had needles attached to it.

 

The soft rain turned to a hard storm pricking her heart like a needle when Jim forcefully took their baby away from her, putting its care to Jim’s mother. “When he grows up, I will allow him can visit you when there’s free time,” Alice remembered how the smell of cigar and alcohol wafted in the air as Jim entered her room, cursed and left the house with a loud bang on the door.

If kindness could be related to her husband and in-laws, it would be a rain; and if it be related to her parents, it would be the nimbus cloud.

 

With her left, hand Alice tried gripping the rain, imaginarily pulling it down until it fell loose. At last, she grew tired and frustrated that she formed her right into a hand scissors and fiercely cut the rain in tidbits.

Alice stood with her face some six inches from the mental hospital’s moist window-pane and said, “There. The rain has been cut. No more storms now.”

Tags: alice, fiction, flash fic postcard, husband, jim, kring, Prose, stromy we-ther, wife