Previous Challenge Entry (Level 2 – Intermediate)
Topic: Red (10/01/09)
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TITLE: Click click | Previous Challenge Entry
By Colin Nielsen
10/08/09 -
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I swing slowly on my ancient rocking chair, sitting on my bull-nose verandah, overlooking the dusty plains bathed in evening sunlight.
Click click.
I caress my wife’s red notebook with white lace trim, afraid to open the fragile pages, terrified of what she might say. About me. About everything.
I retreat into the safety of my memories, fading these days like the season.
Click Click.
Roses grow. Carnations bloom. Bottle Brushes attract humming birds. She presides over her garden kingdom a queen without peer. Her full lipstick-laden lips form a contented smile. She dances over the emerald lawn and her long brown hair waves to me.
Click Click.
A thunderstorm cell brews on the horizon, the eastern sky crimson. Air grows anxious and charged. A small red-dust whirlwind meanders quietly through the broken-down gate, over the unbroken soil and past the decaying rose garden. A still small voice penetrates through my solitude and defences and whispers into my soul, “Go beyond your pain. Open her notebook.”
Click Click.
I raise my cracked and unshaven face towards the quickly darkening heavens. I am a failure; my wife’s powerless protector from the curse of leukaemia. Her God could not save her. I could not save her. Surely her frustrations, shattered dreams, disappointments, and white-hot anger lie within those precious pages.
Click Click.
I lose myself in another memory.
She kneels down in prayer every night. Never begs for healing, never asks for money, and never demands prosperity. I could never understand why she would just talk to the air. About anything. Everything. Seems stupid if you ask me.
I make a decision. I stop swinging on my old rocker and carefully open my beautiful wife’s red book, turn to the last page, and read.
Not long now, Lord. I feel older every day. Can’t get down on my knees any more. Hope you understand. One final request before I see you face to face. I don’t want Richard to be alone. Show yourself to him so that we can together again.
I close the book, gaze at the electrical storm lighting up the paddocks and start rocking again.
Click click.
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I'd suggest putting the "click, click"s in italics, as well as the entry from the wife's journal.
This is an outstanding entry, and it was a pleasure to read.