The Woman - A short story

She was, mother, child, daughter, sister, aunt, wife and widow. She was the woman.
That's what her neighbours called her.

She sits in her chair alone, when she stands, the cushion are sunken and frayed, it fits her perfectly.

She likes the silence of her house, she can listen to the noise outside, the wind blowing, the rain falling, the birds singing, the cats fighting and the dogs barking whilst feeling the warm sun on her face. When darkness comes she closes the curtains and the noises would change, still cats fighting, wind, rain and dogs barking, but now the quiet of night, no rumble of cars, the odd shout as some one rolls out of a pub and the quiet glow of the street lights.

She sits in her chair alone, looking at the photo's on the wall and on top of the piano, once played and now forgotten, just a surface to polish and place for things.

When she goes out, she always wear a hat, that's how she was brought up, her hair has to be done, and a little lipstick to brighten her face. She is old school, with old habits, old style.

She sits in her chair alone, no need for company or a pet, they would just bring noise and disruption into her quiet place.

She goes to her fridge, there is cheese, butter, ham, tomatoes and cucumber. It's all she needs.

She sits in her chair alone, eating a sandwich, the only sounds are her teeth biting and her throat swallowing.

Eventually, she doesn't wear her hat any more, she doesn't go out, or to the fridge. She just sits.

She sits in her chair alone, for many days, not moving.

She sits in her chair alone, not thinking, not feeling.

She sits in her chair alone, and eventually...

She stops. 



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