In the darkness of early morning the kitchen floor looked like a deep grey pool. As she stepped from the soft grassiness of the carpet, she imagined falling into the dark abyss, wanted to, because he might be there…waiting.
She flicked the kettle on for a cup of tea, a new habit formed out of desperation, searching for comfort when it couldn’t be found in sleep.
The kitchen was stifling, unbearable. She pushed open the window and the room inhaled the cool, salty air. She could hear the sea; it sounded soothing but she knew its cruelty.
He’d been missing for ten days now, but she knew where he was. People had been so kind, they said there was still hope, but in their eyes other words; unspoken.
A seagull screamed, cutting through the silence. She felt trapped between needing sleep; nothingness and the inevitability of the coming dawn. Another day when he would not return but pretending he would…only her and the sea, knowing.
Joining in with writealm’s July prompt-a-day
today’s prompt is ‘kitchen floor’