Or Maybe It Is About The Ten Widows?

Due to a lack of suitable blog material, I'll just share some writing from this week.

When the girl was waist-high to her mother, her mother disappeared. She was last seen standing on the edge of a cliff that jutted out over the churning sea to the west, there, where the world ends. “We saw her,” said The Ten Widows. “And then we did not see her.” But what were you doing there? the men asked. The Ten Widows turned towards the women of the village, who answered Every day they stand on the cliff and look over the edge. And the men said Why? But The Ten Widows walked away then, and the women who were not widows felt no obligation to answer.

I know a story about The Ten Widows; this is not it. Instead, this is a story about the left-behind girl and how a cage grew round her heart. But that happens in the middle of the story, and now I am all turned around. Let me begin again.

When the girl was waist-high to her mother, her mother disappeared. She was last seen standing on the edge of a cliff that jutted out over the churning sea to the west, there, where the world ends.

No great imagination was required to understand that the mother was dead. In the few moments before waking each morning, the girl could see what had happened. She saw her mother dive with an easy grace, her hair undulating like seaweed. She saw the surface of the water shatter and then a sudden and terrible burst of light. At times this light was a mouth, swallowing her mother whole. But more often this light was the girl’s handmaid, throwing open the curtains and screeching, “Good morning, Miss! Good morning!”