Thursday, November 26, 2009
The first story i wrote for the blog
The colour purple was the brightest of all the colours on the washing line that day. It flashed and flittered as it danced delicately on the breeze. Edna looked at the purple, she didn’t remember buying that dress; but that seemed to be a common feeling these days, forgetting things. The purple dress looked so much happier than all the other clothes on the line, the browns, tans, greys and beiges that also moved in the breeze looked like they were being pushed or bullied by the breeze; but not the purple it danced and celebrated, its creases looking like laugh lines stretched wide across a delighted face. Edna didn’t feel like the purple dress. It had been a long time since she had danced. It had been a long time since she had felt happy, free and full of abandon. She wondered if when she had worn that dress she had flowed and flittered the way the dress did on the line. Edna sat on the deck chair that was on its last legs. It creaked and groaned under her weight; even though her tiny frame did not deserve such a complaint. She ran her wrinkled, bent fingers over the edge of the chair, as if to soothe or massage its weary frame. There had been a time when this old chair had had other members, all of them the same; blue and green stripped canvas on shining metal. Now it was the only one, the last of the family. It no longer had bright colours or a shining frame, rust was eating away at the edges and tears and holes were appearing in the now dull, pallid colours. One day this chair too would have its day. The canvas would rip beyond repair, leaving nothing but a useless skeleton, a sad reminder of what used to be. Edna glanced up, clouds were starting to appear; big black, ominous clouds. Time to get that purple dress off the line and put it away.