Background
This was a story I wrote primarily for Bridport’s Flash Fiction competition. But it is actually a very personal view of what I was feeling after the death of my wife.
I struggled greatly to write this.
Synopses
It’s a story of a short life together, from the first date, to the last seconds.
Lucy
by J. M. B. Wilcoxson
She smiles, I smile. I’m happy. I’m sad.
She talks, I talk. I’m happy. I’m sad.
She laughs, I laugh. I’m happy. I weep.
She kisses me, I kiss her. I’m joyful. I’m empty.
She says “I love you”, I say “I love you”. I’m happy. I’m sad.
She moves in, I move in. I’m content. I’m lost.
She says “Yes!”, I’m on one knee. I’m relieved. I’m sad.
She’s diagnosed, I can only hold her. I’m afraid. I cry.
She hurts, I hurt. I hurt. I hurt.
She says “I do”, I say “I do”. I’m overjoyed. I’m sad.
She’s weak in her bed, I’m kneeling beside. I’m terrified. I’m traumatised.
She says her last word, I hear her last breath. I’m devastated. I’m devastated.
I sit alone now, wishing memories were not tarnish by the emotions they evoke.
J. M. B. Wilcoxson 