Rasping and wheezing, he propped himself up on one elbow, only to fall back on the bed in fatigue.
‘Wilma…’, he called out weakly, but his voice did not travel beyond the strong, oak door of the bedroom. Coughing in laboured breaths, he brought up dark, blackened blood which he was unable to wipe away with his weakened hands.
He lay there, staring up at the ornate ceiling, feeling his insides burn as the disease wracked his ravaged body.
An hour and a half later, the door opened and a woman strode in, attired in a lavender blouse and a burgundy skirt, which swept the floor in her wake. Her face was composed in a passive expression, which broke into a practised smile. Her hands bore an elegantly carved wooden tray with a single bowl of soup on it, which she proceeded to spoon into the invalid’s mouth.
The illness had destroyed his body thoroughly, much like a tornado rips through the green fields, rendering them lifeless and skeletal. But the real damage lay in his eyes as he watched Wilma feeding him. They drank in every bruise that her face showed, every scar that lined her cheek where he’d struck her, every wrinkle that masked years of domestic abuse she’d endured at his cruel hands.
Those hands were now powerless, rendered so by the arsenic that she fed him daily, in minute doses mixed with the soup.
Word count: 238
Written for the Light and Shade Challenge
This Monday’s prompt is below:
When I was sick, you gave me bitter pills;
And I must minister the like to you.
– Two Gentlemen of Verona, William Shakespeare
Writers must attempt a piece of fact/fiction/poetry in 500 words or less
I am a Write Tribe Pro Blogger– Blogging everyday for a year.
Today is Day 33