There wasn't a cloud that could block the suns blinding light from his eyes and there were no buildings or other tall structures to do it either. All that was there in the empty field of dying grass was a patch of soil holding a dying tree and healthy blades of grass.
This place would be dreary if that was all, but it isn't.
There is a woman.
She was leaning against the tree with affection. She offered life to the barren field, her blonde hair and white dress added color to all the monotone surrounding him.
And he didn't feel so alone anymore, so lost.
The soft soil soothed his feet as he approached her back, the blades of healthy grass being pressed down under his step. The leaves by her feet drug across the ground and her dress fluttered. Her hair danced with the leaves that were blown off of the tree.
The closer he got the safer he felt. The closer he got the more he saw of her. There were the freckles on her shoulders, the dirt on her heel, the small points on her glossy fingernails, and a golden ring on her finger.
"Ah, that's right. She's my wife." He thought.
"She's my wife, but I don't remember what she looks like." He worried.
"I don't remember. I don't remember what she looks like at all." He fretted.
"Why? Why can't I remember?"
Her shoulder was comforting under his hand as she began turning, his golden ring on his finger and a clip holding her bangs twinkling.
"Please turn and let me see you." He begged. "Please turn and let me see your nose, eyes, anything.
Please."
The dog barked without break outside, competing with the song of the birds, the dog winning in terms of volume and roughness. A window draped with lime curtains on either side left enough space in between to faintly fill the room bright yellow. The room was left in its usual mess as the husband began to wake.
The first thing he noticed after waking up was the warm hand resting on his chest and another holding his hand under the blanket.
He looked over to see the woman sleeping besides him, her breathing calm and gentle. Her short, wavy brown hair lolled off her modest cheeks and soft shoulders, the rest sprawled on the pillow and mattress. Her bubbly eyes slowly opened to find his.
Drowsy emerald stared at drowsy blue.
She smiled. "Good morning, honey." she said, a tad dozy.
Her stare shifted towards the window. "This time you're waking up before me. I guess no one is a match for that dog." She chuckled lightly as she closed her eyes, rubbing one of them with the end of her knuckle.
Noticing his wariness, her playfulness waned. "Honey? Are you okay?"
"Who are you? How did I get here?"
Her grip on his hand tightened slightly as she simmered in silence.
She looked at him sternly. "I'm your wife. This is our home. It's okay. You're safe." She smiled again, but her eyes greeted him with sadness.
And again, he rejected her. "You're not my wife. My wife has blonde hair." He said as he scratched at his back.
She lightly exhaled from her nose. "I did, but I got tired of dying it blonde all the time. Now I'm brunette." She stared at him a moment before reaching over him for the notebook. "This is for you, to remind you." She opened it to the first page for him. "See?"
YOU ARE READING
His Lovely Wife
Mystery / Thriller"Who are you?" It was a question he's asked her a thousand times, that's cut her deep a thousand times, a question that never ends. All she ever wants is for him to remember her even if it only lasts a week, a day, or even just thirty minutes-it'll...
