Omer Ziv (CC / Flickr)

Silence presses down on her tiny room as though the damp is soaking sound from the air.

“Will you speak to me?” I try to keep my voice level.

My only answer is a church bell striking midday. A shaft of light sneaks round the curtain, shimmering motes of dust in the air.

The walls are closing in on me. I try to jerk the curtain open, but it’s nailed to the window frame.

“Can’t you bear to let any light in here?” I ask.

She waves a hand. I’m not sure if it’s an answer or a dismissal.

“We don’t have to wait for him,” I say. “We could just go. Now. Together.”

I don’t expect her to agree, but it might shock her into speaking if only to refuse. All I get is a minute shake of her head.

I bend down to pick up one of the shoes her husband’s return will fill. I want to throw it through the window. I put it back.

“Do you want me to go?” I ask.

“Yes,” she says.

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Posted in Saturday Hooptedoodle

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