This is for Cal's Some Kind of Chorus Contest.
Word prompt: catharsis
Song: The Decemberists --The Engine Driver
Elizabeth Spry walked away from the cemetery, the train of her dress following close behind, riding on the rich dark earth. She did not cry. Elizabeth Spry never cried; she smirked at the world. The blossoms hanging low from the trees, blushing like brides brushed her dark head as she proceeded underneath them. Their flowery smell tickled her nose; she did not pause to smell them, but merely speculated the quiet harbour that lay before her, the grassy hill slowly sloping down towards it. She would go there today. The harbour would do well, indeed.
The cool breeze brushed at her face, soft and lovely, as if consoling her. She rubbed her cheeks irritably, she needed no condolence; she was fine.
The walk downhill was brisk, and Elizabeth Spry was pleased to think that she rather enjoyed it. Yes, she could go on living her life, rather enjoying it, she need not whimper and wail like a widow, she was no widow.
Had she been a widow, would she have cried she wondered. She doubted it, though Alice Spern fit the picture perfectly of a newly widowed woman. How pathetic! Had she, Elizabeth, been married to Stephen, she would not have wailed and put off an embarrassing fuss on the poor dead man’s body, but she would have caressed it tenderly; she knew he would have liked that far more.
Maybe he finally realized his mistake at his own funeral, bit too late of course, but nonetheless he’d go to Heaven knowing he had made a very bad decision in marrying Alice Spern. What a weak minded, pathetic woman. He had always said he admired strength of will and character most in people. She, Elizabeth Spry, was just that wasn’t she? Couldn’t he have noticed that before he wedded that sweet lipped Alice? Before he ruined his life, and Elizabeth’s.
No, not hers. Stephen had never ruined her life. She had done it herself.
She shook her head, wishing all thoughts of Stephen away. He was dead, buried and gone. She would no longer see him.
Elizabeth Spry, despite herself, sighed.
Look at yourself Elizabeth, a spinster, yet you and Alice both reached the same end. No more Stephen. But what about the years in between? What about them? He never came to you. You wasted your beauty, you arrogant woman, you shall never marry now. Alice has a warm home to go to, children, a home, and you return to a cold office, to cook yourself a meal and drink tea by a lonely fire, as you scribble away on those papers what you keep hidden away in yourself. Just have a look at yourself.
If her thoughts had been not been shut in her head, and had they been corporal she would surely have swatted at them by now. But all she could do, was hold her head slightly higher, and quicken her pace as if it trying to get way from Stephen’s dead body lying under the moist dirt.
Upon reaching the harbour, Elizabeth Spry was short of breath and quickly seated herself on a bench facing the sparkling water. Gathering her skirts about her she whisked out a fountain pen and some folded sheets out of paper.
1920 May 3rd
This is most likely the last time I write to you, if I can help myself.
If only I had the strength enough to have cornered you and demanded the answers out of you, I would not have wasted my life wondering what I still wonder now. But there is no going back. You are dead.
How funny. I laugh now. Yes, Stephan I laugh. I laugh at my feeble nature, my wretchedness to have pinned hope on a man who never loved me. Oh Stephen, did you ever love me? Tell me my devotion wasn’t a waste.
You know, I dreamt, I imagined that you got these letters in your dreams. I imagine that I slipped under your eyelids, and you sighed softly in your dreams, completely oblivious of the woman who lay beside you.
Either when you woke up you did not remember those dreams, or you actually never had such dreams. I suppose I am foolish.
But know this Stephen. You are cruel, you do not go away me, but haunt me always, clawing at my heart, playing with my desires.
I love you Stephen, but leave me alone. Please.
Elizabeth thought of tying a stone to the folded piece of paper so it would sink to the bottom of the water, but thought better and placed it gently on the water. It sat there, quivering as the water seeped into it, blurring its words, the ink dripping away as the letters deformed, no longer words.
Elizabeth dipped her fingers in the water, a tender look on her face, “Good bye,” She whispered.
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