when morning comes
(a working title)
by coffee shop poet
Fate came to me broken.
It came to me on its last limb of hope and I, at first, wanted nothing to do with it. My life was already filled with a destiny I had chosen for myself long ago – to be a terrible flirt, to be chased and pursued and wanted until the end of my days. But I never wished to be caught, to be possessed by a name and a title, to settle into that cocoon of security that I had come to loathe so very much in my young years. I wished to be free of husbands and such dreary things of that nature – the little wife standing in the kitchen, an apron curving over a swollen belly, as she hums a sweet little tune of submission and careworn decay. Gazing out of her windowpane prison with such bittersweet longing and despair that only the housewife may encounter in her substandard conditions of existence. Such domestic ennui, that I had deemed in my day as the last legal form of slavery, was certainly never my idea of a life even to be taken into consideration, much less wanted.
And I was free.
Until he came along.
He quietly slipped his way into the scheme of things, nothing more than the silence that keeps to the walls in its physiscal form. There was no fanfare of confessed, undying love when he came to me, asking for my hand, to offer a place at his side. All he had to give to me was the anguished pieces of himself left over from the war, the ones that he managed to keep concealed from me until he could no longer bear the burden of such a mask.
Twice I refused him.
But when necessity and desperation called my name, it would be the first of many times that I would go to him to seek shelter from the raging storm.
Gentle Eugene Sledge. The sweetest man that ever breathed, on whom violence took its toll.
He never turned me away, not once.
A/N - This is only the prologue. Please let me know what you think. Should I continue with this storyline? Anything I should change? Do tell me. I won't bite. :)
