Drip...Drips...Drip

Drip…drips…drip. “Are you ever going to fix the faucet?” She said. “I don’t know, oh, maybe sometime within the next century?” Miranda winced at the bark in her tone. She never wanted to be that girlfriend. ‘Fiancé,’ she mentally corrected herself. She never wanted to be that anything—girlfriend, fiancé, wife, mistress, or whatever. The point was she never wanted to be the one that barked. In fact, glancing at the blight on the ring finger of her dish addled hands with disgust, she thought, ‘I never wanted to be a lot of things. Fiancé…right.’
Drip…drips…drip. Every drip was another drop from a forty foot ledge into an inky black pool of regret. She could see regret in that pool for the leaky sink, piece of shit car, grossly unpaid bills, dead-end career, failed and forgotten friendships, but mostly, mostly she could see his face.
It wasn’t even a handsome face, she realized, although at one point it was near perfection. It wasn’t even a kind face, she realized, although at one point it was angelic.
Drip…drips…drip. Every drip rippled the image looking back at her in the reflection of the dish water. Even without the ripples it was nearly impossible to see Miranda. Of course, there was a woman with hair, eyes and lips in the watery mirage. But unlike a mirage, the face staring back at her was hauntingly real, and as unfamiliar as a stranger in the park. Only worse, because at least she could walk away from the stranger, perhaps even scream and run, if she chose. But the face in the water was forever.
Drip…drips…drip. In it she saw eyes faded gray, skin pulled tight, puckered lips, and an unending supply of misery. Miranda cried silently, letting the tears course down her cheeks, adding their own drips to the soapy mix.
“Yeah, I’ll fix it tomorrow or something,” he shouted over the television in the living room.
The tears continued; however, a smile worked its way slowly, cautiously, then with reckless abandonment, first starting at the corners of her mouth, and eventually stretching over a full row of off-white teeth. ‘I don’t have to be here tomorrow or something…My life is my own to live.’ She slid the ring off her puckered finger and dropped it into the water. “Sure, fix it tomorrow or something,” she said.
Drip…drips…drip.

Drip...Drips...Drip

Dave Legere

Joined January 2008

  • Artist
    Notes
  • Artwork Comments 2

Artist's Description

practice

Tags

short fiction

Artwork Comments

  • VelvetGirl
  • missalyshachristine
desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait
desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait

10% off

for joining the Redbubble mailing list

Receive exclusive deals and awesome artist news and content right to your inbox. Free for your convenience.