Vignette

Written in response to a challenge...

Sun sparkles promise at the edges of the curtain. Draw them, and the day will flood in, sweeping her along on a relentless tide of the mundane and she will belong to everyone but herself.

Eyes shut in the warm bed, time is suspended between the tick and the tock of the clock at the top of the stairs. Under the eaves, the house martins burble and bubble – their dark shadows flit in and out of their mud-cup nest. Wood pigeon coos and another answers “My toes bleeds Betty, look.” The hedge below is full of sparrow chatter and quarrel. A lawn mower's ascending whine blends with the dull motorway thrum. Somewhere high above the house, an invisible plane leaves a contrail in its wake.

The phone rings.