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not quite a short story
The tear-streaked face stared back at me from the mirror, clutching a long, thin white candle in a shaking hand. Her hair was tangled from the wind and a stray leaf had stuck into it. She looked numb. Her breathing was even, quiet. Slowly, she turned from the mirror and left.
I walked out into the hallway, a soft, silvery-blue moonlight filtering through the window at the end. Slowly, holding the burning candle in my hand, I walked down the hallway with the events of the evening burned into my eyes. The hallway opened up into the darkened living room. The curtains on the far wall opened to reveal the wind-blown trees outside, casting muted shadows in the moonlight.
I crossed the room to the large, plush chair by the window. The cold of the wood floors seeped through my bare feet. The fireplace on the opposite wall was cold, the shelves of books surrounding it thrown into intermittent darkness as the light from the candle in my hand swept the room. A thousand eyes from the statuettes on the fireplace mantle blinked at me as I lowered myself into the chair.
I closed my eyes, listening to the rustling of the leaves, the low howl of the wind, the faint flickering sound of my candle. I took a deep breath, trembling with a chill. I heard a lone, mournful howl from the woods. I opened my eyes too take one last look at the full moon in the window.
I blew out the candle.
I walked out into the hallway, a soft, silvery-blue moonlight filtering through the window at the end. Slowly, holding the burning candle in my hand, I walked down the hallway with the events of the evening burned into my eyes. The hallway opened up into the darkened living room. The curtains on the far wall opened to reveal the wind-blown trees outside, casting muted shadows in the moonlight.
I crossed the room to the large, plush chair by the window. The cold of the wood floors seeped through my bare feet. The fireplace on the opposite wall was cold, the shelves of books surrounding it thrown into intermittent darkness as the light from the candle in my hand swept the room. A thousand eyes from the statuettes on the fireplace mantle blinked at me as I lowered myself into the chair.
I closed my eyes, listening to the rustling of the leaves, the low howl of the wind, the faint flickering sound of my candle. I took a deep breath, trembling with a chill. I heard a lone, mournful howl from the woods. I opened my eyes too take one last look at the full moon in the window.
I blew out the candle.
writing a story again?
Re: writing a story again?
The other story never got finished, and I got bored with it.