In response to the writing prompt Collage #18 on Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie
The shutters are closed; not that surprising. It is Lent after all, and everyone knows the windows are sealed at that time. It’s always been so. Once a reminder for the inhabitants of the darkness Christ had to face during his time in the desert, he doesn’t wonder what it means now. He knows. Still, in the evening light, the house looks almost haunted. And it is, in more ways than one.
He captures the image; that’s why he’s come today. Partly. He’s come to see the widow. He doesn’t know her by any other name. He sometimes wonders if anyone does. He knows there’ll be a cup of coffee waiting for him, as usual. He knows the spiderwebs won’t have been cleaned, like dreamcatchers capturing the hopes of a woman who doesn’t have any left.
He knows he isn’t the only one who visits her. In her own way she’s so brave and so quiet it’s easy to forget she’s suffering. It’s easy to forget that what she does isn’t really a choice. She’s merely escaping the past even though she doesn’t seem to be ready to get rid of its reminders, these ugly creepy dolls that once belonged to the chid she lost, days before her husband was called to war.
He knows he won’t be capturing her picture. She won’t let him; her despair would then be too visible. She doesn’t seem to know that everything around her screams of her hopelessness and loneliness. Even the men who visit every so often cannot fill the void. And Lent is only a reminder of that emptiness. So the shutters are closed.