Challenge: Rainy Sunday

The rain pounded outside, the sound of it driving Mrs. Vitello out of her deep slumber. Lightning crashed across the sky, startling the woman out of her chair and onto the floor. She blinked and held her head carefully, a headache beginning to form. She silently cursed the rain and rose to her feet, slowly shuffling drowsily toward the front area to check for any customers. She scoffed; her expectation finding a customer at this time of a Sunday evening in the terrible storm was small.

She opened the door and peered inside, not seeing any customers. She sighed, closing the door as thunder rumbled and shook the small flower shop to its foundation. Mrs. Vitello decided to close the shop and head home.

"No one is going to buy anything today. It just wasn't likely," thought Mrs. Vitello to herself. She grabbed a jacket, black with leather on the inside. Her husband had bought it for their anniversary, knowing how she liked to keep in style. She covered her head and ran out the door, keys in hand as she fidgeted with the door locket. A small click was heard as she turned it, signaling that the door was closed.

She smiled to herself, and turned toward the street, walking quickly to her house as the wind and rain assaulted her clothing and exposed skin. Her jacket flapped in the wind, almost flying off of her body, but she held it close and pressed on. The driveway light was on, illuminating her as she walked briskly up it. She pulled out her keys again and inserted a brass one, turning and opening the door as rain clawed at her. The door flew open by a gust of wind and she fell to the floor for the second time.

She got up and slammed the door, almost slipping in the water on the floor. She caught her self on the doorknob and brushed her jacket off of water and looked into the mirror. A middle-aged, dark-haired woman looked back, her prominent nose almost touching the looking-glass as she adjusted her hair and smiled to herself. She took off her jacket and hung it under her husband's coat and hat on the hat stand. She took off her shoes and walked into living room, seeing and hearing the television flicker through commercials. Mr. Vitello's head was seen just over the arm of the couch, not moving.

Mrs. Vitello suddenly flashed forward to a hospital room. She looked around, noticing a few other people were in the room, looking desperate, worried, or lost. She rose as a doctor walked forward, stopping right before her.

"What happened doctor?" asked Mrs. Vitello nervously. The doctor's voice was sullen as he spoke the words that would haunt Mrs. Vitello for the rest of her life.

"I'm sorry Mrs. Vitello, but it seems your husband has experienced a heart attack. He is barely holding on to life and is unconscious." He paused to let the words sink in. Mrs. Vitello sank to the chair, her emotions raging inside. Tears fell down her face as she barely registered the doctor's next words.

"We are hopeful in his recovery, but if he survives he will face challenges to even function on his own again. You were lucky to catch it when you did. Another few hours, and he would've died."

"Lucky?" she thought. She didn't feel lucky. If anything, she felt unfortunate. Terrible thoughts crossed her mind, her husband dying, or not being able to live at their own house, stuck in the hospital for the rest of his life. She felt her vision blurred as more tears fell, and she placed her face in her hands. Sitting there, she hoped for a miracle, one that would save her husband.

She lifted her face to see another scene. Men, women, and children in black were all around her. She looked at her outfit and saw she too was wearing black. She realized she was in the front row of a procession, a black veil over her face. She turned her head, frantically looking for an explanation when one came to her.

She rose as the landscape changed, the people vanishing and instead a grave appearing in front of her. She read the gravestone as more tears flowed down her face. She knelt to the ground and cried softly, occasionally gasping for air as she sobbed on the grave of her husband, flowers blowing lightly in the wind. They were her flowers, she realized as she closed her eyes as tightly as she could, willing the world to vanish… just as her husband had vanished from her life.


A crack of thunder startled Mrs. Vitello from her dreams. She looked around, hearing the rain pound on the greenhouse. She lifted herself with her cane and examined herself in the glass of the greenhouse. Her hair was grey, her face showing wrinkles and age. She realized that she must have fallen asleep. She rested her hands on her cane, and then she decided something. She hurried as quickly as she could to a bush of red roses and expertly picked a few from the bush. She tied them and put on her jacket, the same one from her dream.

She drove her car to the graveyard, the rain falling over her face like tears as she got out and walked to a headstone. It had fallen slightly over, vines and dirt wearing down the rock while the rain slid down it.

Mrs. Vitello placed the roses under the headstone, her husband's name scrawled into the rock and his birth and death dates underneath those. Mrs. Vitello stared at the stone as she had for years, still longing for her love as the rain fell and mixed with her tears.