A beautiful shooting star - A short story of Weekend freewrite
A beautiful shooting star
There had been many theories about how she had been killed. Everything indicated that it could be her partner, the one who only came at night and who sometimes seemed very changed. I gritted my teeth and said nothing because I might have trouble looking for what I hadn't lost.
How do I explain that sometimes it didn't seem to me that the man coming in was the same man coming out? How do I explain that I didn't sleep because of the noise of his bed, while mine was on fire?..But because of the cold! How do I relate the order of arrival of the different men, because what was I doing awake until the early hours of the morning looking out of the window, with his noises and without noise?
In truth, her life seemed disastrous to me but at the same time, intriguing, how did she manage to maintain relationships with different men, without shame or embarrassment? How did she manage to appear in the morning fresh as a daisy and me with dark circles under my eyes, purple as a beet?
Now, she appeared dead and I bite my lips and I grit my teeth because I look prettier, with my mouth closed.
Suddenly, the heater kicked in with a loud rumbling noise cutting through the silence. Oh, my God! I was so scared that I thought it was her, reproaching me for not opening my mouth, allowing impunity to reign in her death.
But, she has to understand that just as it is convenient to be silent so as not to leave her liberal life in question, it is also convenient to be silent so that I do not get involved in that tremendous mess that has been made. It is better for me to be silent for the sake of our "morals", she for "lightweight hulls" and I for "gossiping". She has passed on to a better life and me to a respectful silence. The truth always looks for a way to show her face in any crack, so the crime won't go unpunished.
The sound stopped as if she had caused it and was giving in to my reasons. Am I or am I not right? I was talking to her as if she were present and a chill ran down my spine as I remembered she was in the morgue.
A child screamed a name similar to his and I jumped up in fear. I was definitely dismayed and on edge. I looked out the window and could see that life outside was going on as if it were alive.
And to think that it hadn't been so many hours since a taxi stopped in front of her house and she got out bright, flawless with those big sunglasses covering her soul. She was so beautiful that one flirtation was enough to make her not even pay for the transport.
Her life was that of an actress starring in her masterpiece, the divinity consumed her star and darkness came looking for her before the golden threads of dawn made a braid that she could see and turn into a tiara. Indeed, she looked like a queen, a powerful chess lady, but she was put in check and we still don't know who.
So much beauty wasted... I don't think she knew how to handle herself. She would have won the sky with a "sweet daddy", and yet she preferred to be a shooting star that turned off its light without making a sound because precisely in her night flight to another life, not one moan or lament came out of the walls of her house, just silence.
By Zeleira Cordero @zeleiracordero
08/02/2020
In response to @mariannewest in Weekend freewrite.Prompts for each part are highlighted in bold.
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It's interesting how we might not like or be judgemental about people when they are alive, and how death becomes the great equalizer.
Yes... right? When someone dies it is as if his mischief or sins are forgiven and while he lives he is judged harshly. Death instills respect even in the dead.
You really write wonderful stories and have a way with words @zeleiracordero! We all live with regrets once someone is gone!
I see you're from Venezuela, the politics still bad over there?
Yes, death changes the color of life and makes up for what has been lived. After death, you're a better person. Paradoxical!
The policy? Of terror! We're stuck with that here. Hopes for a near change are non-existent.
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Interesting well written story @zeleiracordero with deep insight into the mystery of death and who done it.
Thank you, @redheadpei!
I love it. This is a great story. Wonderfully crafted charaters in such limited space. The stories the gossip ladies of our town would tell, if they wrote them!
Thank you very much, my dear friend!
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A great little story!
I don't think I've ever felt different about someone after they were dead except for JFK. I was a little kid at the time and my dad made a disparaging remark when my uncle told him JFK had been shot. He said, "Where did they shoot him - in the ass?"
I found out about him saying this when I got home from elementary school. My parents didn't like JFK because he was Catholic, and so I didn't like him either, but the shock of him being murdered was hard to understand at my age.
I thought what my dad said was revolting. I think that's the only time in my life that my opinion of a man changed after JFK died, but it was for an obvious reason.
Oh, what a raw story. Sometimes parents don't measure what they're going to say in front of their children, do they? Normally, people have some respect when talking about a deceased person, maybe it's superstition or fear, but they tend to be more cautious than usual.
Thank you, @free-reign!
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Thank you, family!