Skyscape
“Margaret wasn’t even sure she heard it, a little tapping, persistent and timid.
Then, the doorbell, a set of chimes out of the bronze age, resounding and impossible to mistake.
It was Mrs. Wye. “I tried to call you, Margaret—”
Margaret put out her hand. “You’ll wear yourself out,” she said, “running around like this—”
“Don’t worry about me,” said Mrs. Wye, and the way she said it made Margaret unsteady.
“You should be resting,” said Margaret weakly. “Look at the time.”
The elderly neighbor was ...dressed in a flowing dressing gown, whispering satin and a hastily knotted sash. Mrs. Wye looked years younger, flushed and wide awake.
“Haven’t you heard?” said Mrs. Wye.
The words were delivered with care, years of cinematic diction making each consonant count. The walking stick gleamed, white rubber tip lifted into the air. “It’s terrible to be the first with bad news again,” said Mrs. Wye.
Margaret heard the news through a sudden haze. Her own body detached itself from her will.MoreLess
Then, the doorbell, a set of chimes out of the bronze age, resounding and impossible to mistake.
It was Mrs. Wye. “I tried to call you, Margaret—”
Margaret put out her hand. “You’ll wear yourself out,” she said, “running around like this—”
“Don’t worry about me,” said Mrs. Wye, and the way she said it made Margaret unsteady.
“You should be resting,” said Margaret weakly. “Look at the time.”
The elderly neighbor was ...dressed in a flowing dressing gown, whispering satin and a hastily knotted sash. Mrs. Wye looked years younger, flushed and wide awake.
“Haven’t you heard?” said Mrs. Wye.
The words were delivered with care, years of cinematic diction making each consonant count. The walking stick gleamed, white rubber tip lifted into the air. “It’s terrible to be the first with bad news again,” said Mrs. Wye.
Margaret heard the news through a sudden haze. Her own body detached itself from her will.MoreLess
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