Falling

Falling

A petal fell onto the table. She watched it fall. It lay as a separate entity on the oak surface, concave yet irregular. The colour was the same intensity as those remaining on the tulip; diablo red which bled into a jagged line of cadmium yellow before being swallowed up by a swathe of black. The petal fell silently, just like him. She howled hysterically for days before she ran out of volume. His limp body lay crushed against the black tarmac, a single yellow line hugging the pavement, diablo red draining from his body, his white t-shirt soaking it up like litmus paper. Then she fell mute. Her days were spent coiled foetus-like, enveloped in his oversized tops, her knickers stained from days of wear and her stomach eating itself. The lone petal was bothering her, her arm unfurled sluggishly and she shook the stem of the tulip, watching the other petals fall. They lay together on the table, burning teardrops fuelled with a crimson rage, leaving the stem upright, exposed and solitary. A salty trickle ran down her cheek in solidarity, she knew how it felt to be left behind.

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