The NK Collection

Dark

dark The stiffness of his poise stifles the air around her, eyes glazed with resignation, she follows him, her husband into the church. He sits down eyes firmly fixed on the pulpit. She stares ahead the vision of her reoccurring dream plaguing her mind. In an elevator she goes up and down, the doors open and she walks along the narrow corridor to the hotel room. She walks in, it is empty nobody there. She stands in the middle of the room alone in the emptiness. Back in the elevator her reflection is melting in the mirror.

Dark swaggers down the aisle, he sees the back of her neck, breathing in the memories of their past he sighs at the thought of what he is about to do. He sits down on the bench, she feels his presence her bladder goes weak. He turns to gaze at her, the stench of her prissiness affects his breathing he lets out a slight cough. Her husband’s eyes stay firmly fixed on the pulpit. Dark places his hand on her leg, frozen she can’t move, her reflection is melting in the mirror she wills it back but she has no control.

The service bleeds sanctimonious hypocrisy into the blood of those that are servile to its dogma, a sedation, so that they may go home and eat comfortably round the table, blinkered to their sins. They kneel, her husband’s eyes stay firmly fixed on the pulpit, sweat trickles down the back of her neck she despises the desire rising, pulsating beneath her skin. Dark lifts her skirt, he caresses her leg. She feels herself moist beneath his touch, the powder blue nylon suit is suffocating her.

They stand, they sing, Abide With Me, Dark sings, come with me, she takes his hand. Seated she calms, takes off her shoes and slips off her pantyhose, she kicks them under the kneeling pad. Her husband’s eyes stay firmly fixed on the pulpit. The final prayers, she is loosing her mind, the awakening surges through her body. Dark releases his hand and walks out the church. She waits.

She picks up her shoes and leaves the church, the congregation turn and stare. She stands on the sandy gravel alone, surrounded by emptiness. Her husband takes her arm, he whispers sternly into her ear. ‘Put on your shoes’. She serves the lunch, they sit down and eat, husband and wife together.

By Nikki Kilburn

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This entry was posted on April 19, 2015 by .

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