A Single Tear

Today you can write about anything, in whatever genre or form, but your postmust mention a dark night, your fridge, and tears (of joy or sadness; your call).

I wake with the feeling deep within the pit of my stomach. The emptiness threatens to take over as I struggle into an upright position. After a moments hesitation, my feet reach the floor and my eyes do their best to adjust to the darkness surrounding me. I look towards the window, the curtains flowing in the welcoming breeze, and catch a glimpse of the moon playing shadows on the walls. I stumble forward, reaching my hand out to prevent any unseen destruction. By the time I reach the door handle, the creature inside me takes on a life of its own. I twist the knob as lightly as I can and pull the door towards me. Peering into the hallway, the soft glow of the kitchen light beckons me forward. I step swiftly into the hallway, my feet padding along the well worn carpet. I inch closer to the kitchen and quickly look over my shoulder. I notice nothing but shadows and hints of deep breathing coming from behind closed doors. I reach the fridge as it sits in a pool of its own emitting light and grasp the metal handle. I feel my heart sped up with anticipation. I open the freezer door slowly, peering over my shoulder once more, and prepare for the glory about to unfold. My eyes hover over frozen vegetables and pizzas. Blackberries and broccoli. Back and forth they go searching, searching, searching. I spot the brown box and slowly reach for it, my fingers welcoming the cold wisps coming off of the frozen goods. Opening the box, I smile to myself and reach inside. But my fingers do not feel the familiar smooth wrapper. Instead they feel emptiness. Nothing but cardboard edges. I peer inside to behold the harsh truth. Defeated, I crumple the box in my hands and throw it into the recycle bin under the sink. I make my way back to my darkened room and reach my bed with a worn out sigh. I close my eyes and just before sleeps beckons me under, a single tear slides down my cheek.


2 Comments Add yours

  1. The pain is real. That feeling…you played the feeling perfectly. Of course, I laughed, but I laugh in the face of pain. That was spot on. This post could easily be followed by another: “Write a series of passive aggressive Post-It notes between you and a roommate.”

Leave a Reply. The Woodelves will get back to you.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s