Until Death Do We Part
The white house rose out of the lonely hill with it's two dormers watching for her arrival.
"Silvia..." She could hear the sinews of its voice creeping down through the tree lined driveway toward her.
She'd only been gone for an hour. Wasn't she allowed to leave sometimes! Why was it - he - so possessive of her? She just wanted to get out sometimes. Sometimes she had to leave to get things like the grocery bags weighing her down.
The wind gripped her grocery bags attempting to tear them from her hands and creep into her jacket. If this wind had any say, winter would be here quickly this year.
Tonight she would make a stew that with it rich and warm spices added would tell him of the cold winds blowing outside.
She pushed forward toward against the blustering wind, trampling the bloody leaves underfoot. Leaves fell to avenge their fallen brothers, but just joined them on the ground underneath in wasted vain effort.
Everything was work. Everything ended in sorrow. But still she ventured forward knowing their was nothing else to do and their was no fight left in her. The house that she loved, but she hated. The man waiting for her their. Her husband.
"Till death do we part," she whispered out the lines of the vow to the rickety old soul waiting for her with its porch littered in forgotten rocking chairs and dead leaves left in the places they fell.
The stairs creaked under her, and she wondered how old the boards were. Were they rotting now as well? It didn't really matter any more.
She climbed the steps, her fingers running up the railing, flaking away paint with them. They'd planned to paint the house together when they bought it. So many plans.
She fumbled for her keys and eventually found the pocket they were hidden away in. A moment later she was able to force them in the lock.
The wind chose that moment to tunnel the the porch with a load of gold. One leaf splatted on her face, and she pulled it away to see that is was the same color as her hair. He used to say that her hair reminded him of his favorite season, and the trees with the golden leaves that lined the road where he lived.
It was spring when they bought the house, but he had thought the trees would turn yellow like her hair in the fall. He'd been wrong about most of them, but she would bring him this leaf. Somewhere on this property their must be a tree with gold leaves.
She finished opening the door, slipped through it, and quickly shut it to keep the wind from wrecking more havoc around the house. Though the wind might do less damage than her own despondency.
"Silvia?" She heard his raspy tired voice call out for her. Was he okay? She hadn't left him that long.
She dropped the grocery bags at the door and ran up the stairs, her footfalls drowning out their complaints.
"Silvia?" His voice was a tenuous whisper calling for her.
"I'm here," she called back as she opened the door to their prison.
His bony hands struggled to pull himself into a sitting position, the IV in his hand tangling with his paper thin arms. She gulped; forcing herself not to let the tears fall, and ran forward to his side as he gave up and collapsed back against the bed.
"Is everything okay? Do you need anything?" She asked, worried she'd missed something. Worried that she would be what caused his demise.
His trembling hand that used to strongly grasp her reached up to touch her cheek. "Just you, my love." His sunken eyes were filled with the old tenderness and love. She reached out to touch his face; her fingers running over the dying skin drawn close to his skull. He was a shadow of who he used to be. His voice a weak echo of it. His body ready to break and join the leaves on the ground. His hair had already fallen away and left his skull as clean as the squash in the bags downstairs. She needed to still put the groceries away.
She still held the leaf in her hand. The leaf for this shadow of the man she loved. The fate that crept forward for them. It clutched it's hands against her chest. She held the leaf up, and then let it fall into the hand that he held out for it.
The skin around his lips twisted upward towards a skull's dead grimace. "Ah, a leaf the color of your hair. Is it already fall now? Will I die before winter do you think?" His voice grated out the words wrapping them around her and binding her with reality.
She shook her head and pulled away from his pale form. She couldn't face reality. Not yet! It wasn't supposed to be like this! Not so soon.
She backed toward the door. "Silvia?" his husky voice begged her to come back to him, but he was already gone, wasn't he?
She turned away from the horror of her fate, and scampered out of his room.
"Silvia, my love! Come back to me," his gravelly voice begged her to come back and be bound by chains to his side.
"I have to make dinner. I'll be back with dinner!" She lamented. They would never be free of the catena of misfortune that plagued them. Not even after death.
A/N: Definition of the word catena: chain/chain of events. Comes from the Latin word for chain.