She ties her hair back with an old rubber band, not caring that her clothes look disheveled and her face is drawn and gray. The dark circles beneath her eyes make her look as if she hasn't slept for days. Maybe that's because she hasn't. Sighing, she glances over at the silver alarm clock on the tiny table that fills up the right side of her miniscule apartment. Grabbing her coat, she hurries out the door. She barely makes it to the factory on time for her shift. But then again, maybe she is on time; the factory schedule was lost long ago to the deep abyss of disorganization. And besides, can you really be late if your being there makes no difference whatsoever?
O
He placed the roses in the vase with careful precision, concentrating so hard that you would think his life depended on making the flower arrangement absolutely perfect. This, in fact, was far from the truth. Perfect vases of flowers line the room, so that one imperfect arrangement would hardly matter at all. If he wanted them perfect, all he had to do was ask Ilya, the maid, to do it for him. But, like most of the things in his life, this was something he wanted to do by himself. Who really cared how perfect the roses were anyway; he was the only one who ever came here. He glanced slowly around at the stone walled room; his secret place, his one safe haven from the expectations, impressions, and commotion that came with the life he had chosen to live. Sighing, he sat back from the perfect vase of roses and thought for a minute about how different his life could have been. He had been happy once. He had had someone to share his life with, "forever until death do us part". That was what the priest had said at the wedding. Too bad some things aren't meant to last forever.
Like him, she was been a successful lawyer, and with their combined income, they had afforded many luxurious vacations that should have left lasting imprints in his mind. But somehow, his strongest memory of her wasn't from a month-long vacation to the sandy beaches of Bermuda. Instead, his clearest memory was one she didn't know he had.
He had walked by the bedroom one evening, and through the crack in the door, he saw her sitting on the bed, bent over, crying silently to herself. Clutched tightly in her hands was the little silver alarm clock that he had given her two Christmases ago. He watched her run her fingers over the initials engraved in silver on the top. C.M.B. + M.E.G. That was the night she left him for good.
O
Author's Note: Well that was the first chapter of my first story, so I really don't know if my writing is something worth reading. Please leave a review and tell me if you enjoyed reading this story, and if I should continue it. Any constructive criticism and whatnot would also be greatly appreciated. Thanks!