Photo by Aurélien Lemasson-Théobald on Unsplash
by Bronwen Griffiths
The morning I decide I want to divorce my husband the weather is chill and dull like our marriage but I keep my mouth quiet and I carry on working at my tedious, low-paid job and I tidy our boxy new house and take our nervy dog out for walks, and my husband and I visit the local pub on Saturday nights where we drink weak and bitter beer with the farmers.
The farmers have lined and ruddy faces unlike my husband’s skin which is flawless and not prone to redness, flaking or eruptions although the same cannot be said about our house for a crack has appeared in the plaster above our heads in the bedroom. At first it was a hairline crack and we did not think there was anything to be concerned about but now dust is falling and settling on our duvet cover like flakes of skin.
The evening I tell my husband I want a temporary separation a small lump of plaster drops out of the ceiling and we both stare at the lump as if it could tell us something but to be honest I think it already has.
It is snowing the day I leave. On the station platform the flakes of snow whirl about my face like cold plaster dust and, as the train speeds south through the winter day, I see how the snow covers everything, even the largest of cracks.
Bronwen Griffiths lives in rainy East Sussex, UK. She writes long and short fiction and her flash pieces have been published in the UK, USA and New Zealand. She tweets @bronwengwriter.
