This week’s Friday Fiction is hosted by Laura @ Lauralee’s lifesong. Click here to read and share more great fiction!Author’s note: I wrote this awhile back, but have wanted to expand it a bit for quite some time and just had the burst of inspiration for it…enjoy!“Duke, I’ve had it, okay? I’ve spent the best years of my life, slaving away for you! I keep the house clean, I keep the kids happy, I’m the perfect little ornament in your trophy case. I even have my own job, so that you don’t have to support anyone but yourself! I gave up a great deal of things. My family, being at the top of the list. They warned me about you, told me how your work would consume you, how you would never have time and how anything that could possibly go wrong, would always be my fault. I’m sick of it. It’s not my fault. It never has been. I am sick and tired of this mess, this pretending to be a little quiet, perfect little-” Gilana stopped abruptly, her voice was shaking with anger as she closed her eyes and seemed to center herself. “Tonight is all I have left of my former life. I plan to take it. And I know it will work out just fine. It takes a lot to get this together, and this opportunity is not available to just anyone, so this is more important to me than you know of. So if you have an ounce of self-preservation, you’ll clean up this mess you call paradise-before I set foot here again. Because if I return and I see this wretched hole of a house in this way, I won’t be staying, Duke. And you can keep the children, because I won’t have a place for them if I leave. I’ll be leaving for me, not them and most certainly not you!” Gilana swept from the staircase to the front door, in mass of black caped fur and sparkling gold jewelry. Her somber evening gown flowed behind her, the door nearly closing on her violin case. Duke sighed, staring at the door. “I never told you to give up anything.” He muttered, with a grunt of effort, he shifted his weight from the recliner upwards, positioning the cast of his left leg. “A fellow busts his leg and the world goes out of whack.” He frowned. She hadn’t worn her jewelry in a very long time, but tonight, she’d been decked out in the finery of days he’d nearly forgotten. “Oh Gil…it’s not all you’re making it out to be.” He limped to the kitchen table, lined with newsprint. Various tubes and cans of paint adorned the surface, brushes lay neatly beside them. There were paint smudges on the wall, droppings on the floor and other random pieces of artistic freedom. Duke smiled, faintly. “She doesn’t understand the artist in me.” He told the unfinished painting, raising the protective cover of his masterpiece. “She’s beautiful, brilliant and talented.” He dipped two fingers in the murky bowl of water, stirring the liquid until a deep navy blue surfaced. “But she can’t understand the artist in me. If the house is such a problem…we could hire someone. It’s not like we’re broke or something. She doesn’t know what will happen when this one is done. We’ll be set for life. She’ll have everything she’s ever wanted. Her, the kids and everything.” Wiping his fingers on his art smock, he gathered the brushes together. The tips were still wet, they needed to air-dry. Setting them aside, he took the bowl of water. “Paper towel.” He mumbled, heading for the kitchen sink, one painful step-slide at a time. His cast hooked on the chair leg and Duke came tumbling down. The floor rushed to meet him and the bowl of water went flying up. “No!” Duke tried to break his fall, but he only managed to save himself in terms of saving his face. His legs twisted awkardly beneath him, but thankfully nothing new was sprained or broken. The fall hurt less than he’d expected, but the bowl of water spattered on every surface imaginable. He stifled a groan, reaching for the now empty bowl. “Paper towels…and a sponge.” The smears of dripping navy blue were stark in contrast to the cheery yellow of the kitchen decor. Hours later, the mess was beginning to clear, when the phone rang. Duke admired his careful work as he answered it, pleased to note that at least three-quarters of the kitchen was recognizeable again. He focused on the phone call to find it was Bobby, his college roommate he hadn’t seen in years. The break was welcome, so he eased over to a stool and sat down for a moment. “…I know what you mean, Bobby…and I’ll have to call you back?” Duke hung up the phone without waiting for an answer. The last piece of inspiration had finally clicked. He headed for the table, easing himself into a chair. Reaching for the brushes, he dipped them into creativity, continuing the masterpiece. The children came home from their sleepovers and youth group parties, they stuck their heads through the door to mumble hellos, before heading to the kitchen for more snacks. “Hey Dad. How’s it going?” Deesha wiggled her fingers in her trademark wave of a twelve-year old. “Where’s Mom? Her car’s not in the driveway.” “Hey Dad. I’m back.” Dylan stuck his head around the corner. “We had pizza for lunch at the group tonight, we’re going bowling next Friday too…where’s Mom? Her car’s not in the driveway.” “Dad…everything all right? Where’s mom?” Sixteen year old, Brandon hovered in the doorway a minute longer than the other two. “It’s really quiet in here…everyone else is home already?” Duke waved the paintbrush in greeting to each one, remembering to remind them to eat some fruit intsead of cookies. He became so absorbed in his work, the angle of the brushstrokes, the mixed colors and the feeling of creation, that he almost forgot to answer the doorbell. The insistent ringing broke through the imaginary veil and jerking to his feet, he headed for the door.A note of hope touched him inside as he limped quickly to the door, he chanced a quick look over his shoulder. The near finished masterpiece was visible from that angle. “Just wait ’til you see it, Gil.” He murmured. “Dad, is that mom?” Young Dylan stuck his head through the kitchen. “I’m starving…when’s dinner?” “That should be her, don’t worry,” Duke turned the locks on the door. Gilana stood on the front stoop, cradling her violin in her arms, her violin case nowhere around her. She strummed a few half-chords and shifted from one foot to the other. Her face was hopeful as he peered through the peephole, she was a beautiful vision in all her fashion, the off-chord melody, was one almost haunting. Duke lingered for a moment, wanting to hear the song, but he opened the door anyway, eager to tell of his afternoon adventures. The moment she saw him, all traces of happiness vanished. Gil!” He exclaimed. “Guess what? I’ve almost finished the painting, we’ll be set for life and…Gil?” Two solitary tears trickled down her powdered face as she stared over his shoulder. Duke followed her gaze to the messy kitchen table and the telltale smears of the dirty water, she wasn’t seeing past it. She sniffled, brushing away the tears with trembling fingers. “So I see. Congratulations Duke, you’ve finished your painting…and I’m finished with you.” A sob escaped. “I can’t bear to be apart from you, but I can’t stand to be with you anymore…I’m sorry.” Copyright 2008 S. Harricharan
