A Desperate Widow

A Story by Icedietime

A shoet story that I had the idea to write for a while but finally had to moivation to.

Everyday I stand outside the balcony and watch the gentle oceans for your return alone, with nothing but my thoughts. Actually that's a lie. I sit on the porch now, can't bring myself to watch the empty water anymore. A wine bottle is my companion when I'm out there now too. Another lie, I've switched to rum, your favorite. Also there's a second companion, a tom cat. Named him after you, wonder how well you and little Jake would get along. Doesn't matter, he'll probably be in a tiny grave by the time you come back, if you do.

The war has lasted years, hope my liver will last longer than that. When I reach half the bottle, I ask how you survived out there and how much you thought of me. Then I turn to my right and hear a meow from a very confused cat. Threw away all the white clothes that you used to tell me looked beautiful on me and traded them for black, liquor stains are less noticeable. When I dress myself, it feels as if I'm dressing up for a funeral I'll never get to attend. Maybe it's yours. My father now sends me money after what we saved up for our trip to Europe had dried up. Guess at least one of us got that trip. After father noticed the amount I was asking for, he questioned what I spending it on. I told him I was sending you chocolate. If that wasn't yet another lie, you'd be as sick of chocolate as I am of alcohol by now.

I went down to the town square because I wanted to smell and see something other than the inside of my house and cat piss. I saw that they started drafting 16 year olds for the war, guess they ran out of people your age. I was about to head to the liquor store again when I heard the ringing of a bell. Most of the men didn't react, but I saw women and their offspring rushing down to the docks. Herd mentality got the better of me and I followed them, albeit at a considerably slower pace. Plumes of smoke poured out of the ships that approached, almost consuming the sight of the waving red, white, blue flag and the smaller army flag beneath it. "The boys came back!" I heard an older gentlemen exclaimed as I made my way to the boats. His proud shout had a noticeable amount of sadness to it, I suppose he has given more sons to the war than I have lovers.

Women and children covered the entire area at the bottom of the bridge where they expected their fathers and husbands to pour out from. I squeezed through towards the front, it wasn't much of a challenge since I haven't eaten much since you've left. The gates opened and to everyone disappointment for the exception of a few, a dozen or so soldiers came down. Missing legs and arms alike, they shambled towards the crowd. Most of them managed to find their loved one in the sea of forgotten families. I was happy when I noticed many more soldiers following behind. I wondered why most of the crowd wasn't as ecstatic as I was until I noticed that they were all carrying folded flags. That's how I saw my Uncle again after he didn't come back from the last war when I was just a little girls. Thankfully, none of the names under those flags were yours. I chased down an officer on his way back from telling a newly made widow the bad news and asked him for your name. He pulled out a little notebook with too many names on them and couldn't find yours. He told me you were probably still out there, fighting the good fight. I almost believed him until I heard him repeat the same exact line to another woman. I wanted to vex and berate him for adding more lies and false hope to my life, but then I noticed his voice was less confident and sure after every woman he spoke too. He knew the horrible truth, he just couldn't bring himself to tell us.

The soldiers out there were either dead or not coming back for a while. Am I a bad person for not assuming you were apart of the latter? After countless black-outs, I guess I accepted that you were gone. After that morning I wanted to move on, for the first time since you left.

But I still gotto rot on out on that porch. I still drink an entire bottle waiting for you. I still feed Jake pretending that I'm giving you your first home-cooked meal in years. And I still don't give up hope you'll rush up that hill to hold me in your arms again.

© 2017 Icedietime

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Carol Cashes

This is stark, real and the narrator is quite honest with herself and the reader. The writing is excellent, the story structure is exactly right and adding the cat is a perfect little non-essential detail that oddly adds to the narrator's human condition. Well done!