An Implied Rainy Day - Microfiction Exercise

A Story by Kit Crowell

A story of growing apart and the emptiness it leaves behind

The dripping faucet had finally stopped, just as it was about to drive her mad. She could feel the moisture it added to the air. The paper was signed, documents finalized. All she had to do now was wait for the madness, and then the sadness, to take hold.

It doesn’t matter. It’s over.

The coffee cup on the table had lost its heat, and she stirred it with her finger. The soft buzzing from the halogen bulb on the table had finally faded into the background. Nothing mattered. Not even the dim evening light, filtered through gray clouds and into the kitchen window.

It’s your fault. You could’ve changed things.

The words drummed in her head. Somewhere, deep inside, she tried to convince herself it wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t anything she did. Her wife was the one that cheated. Not her. She had stayed in their home, waiting for the triumphant return of the one she loved the most.

But,

She could’ve spotted the signs. Caught the thoughts wafting through the air around her wife before they had time to materialize, and yet, she hadn’t.

You should’ve seen it.

Nothing was left. Just an empty house, and her empty soul. The faucet started to drip again, and she sank a little bit deeper with each drop. She was alone.