by Lucy Logic
The sound of his voice resonated in her mind. High pitched and screaming, not unlike that of wet fingers rotating around the rim of a crystal wine glass. In fact, wasn’t that what she was doing when the words began to spill from his lips: mindlessly tracing her finger atop the edge of her glass?
“Beth, this isn’t fair to anyone. I’ve met someone else.”
She lost his words in the music of the crystal, in the color of the wine. Refusing to speak or look at him. She became desperate to play her tune. Round and round her finger went. Deeper into the depths of the blood red liquid went her mind.
“Beth, you have to say something!”
She did not respond. She could not respond. For the edge of this glass, cold and full of melody, was where sanity and reason resided. The rhythm of her finger holding her precariously to that edge.
Lost in the melody, she did not lift her head to watch him walk out the door.
As the latch locked in place, he couldn’t help but have heard the crashing of the crystal as it shattered against the door behind him.
Sanity and reason trickled crimson down the wall. They pooled on the floor amongst the splintered pieces of her broken life.
Round and round her finger continued, tracing the edge of a glass that was no longer there.