WRITING PROMPT NO. 128
Maggie traced the outline of the boats with her finger.
Any light was being obstructed by the thick layer of cloud and fog that filled the lake in the valley. The mountains beyond had vanished into a damp vapour. No one would see them for six months. Maggie loathed this time of year. She’d been sat on the bench for ten minutes and her hair was beginning to droop from the droplets of moisture in the air.
TAKE IT BACK - he’d shouted at her, his eyes blazing with fury. She’d thrown her wedding ring at him in a rage when her words failed to explain why she was leaving him, the love of her life. He’d thrown it back, yelling, hurt and pain tightening in the muscles in his face.
That was three years ago. He’d left, moving south where it was warmer and jobs were more plentiful. There were no children to complicate the split.
Maggie blew warm breath over her hands and rubbed them together. She’d forgotten her gloves and her fingers were red from the cold. Every morning she sat here thinking about where she should take her life.
The water was so still it reflected the shapes of the boats in a perfect symmetry. The sharp lines of the masts pierced through the mist but they were fuzzy, blurred lines. Nothing was clear anymore. She picked up a small pebble and threw it into the water. It made a plop sound sending perfect ripples out across the lake. When they hit the boats they rocked gently in the waves.
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