Today’s picture prompt and story starter (the bolded out part of the story in the beginning) are from Claire Goverts, a great A to Z challenge supporter for me last year. The picture is what drew me to these prompts. The word prompt is very unrelated to the picture, and I hope that helps rather than hinders my writing!
His curses and jibes had sent her curling inwards, hardening. His love would chisel her out, give shape to her limbs, her exquisite breasts, her smile, her eyelashes, her voice. He would bring her back.
He looked up at her as she sat on the steps of their hillside home, her gaze distant, unseeing, her face vacant in the fading sunlight.
These days she spoke only when asked a specific question, and then only in a subdued monotone. She did not anger, did not show hurt except when he slapped her around to get a reaction. Her sobs, though visible, never broke the silence. She did not look up at his apologies, she ignored her favorite dishes he cooked to win her back, she lay nerveless in their bed as he made love to her body. Her lips curved up at his gifts, as if she had learned how to smile from a book, never having seen one herself.
As the red in the sky faded, he walked into the garage at the back, and brought out the canister of petrol. Its smell brought up his gorge as he soaked in it–his clothes, his hair, his heart. He would bring back the fire, he promised himself, as he cried to her, the man calling for his muse.
The hillside echoed with their cries, the flames rose, and she ran to him. The evening sky turned red again, and this time it continued to burn.
As a co-host, I end with A to Z Challenge reminders:
3. Leave a link to you when you comment.
If you liked this story you might like some of the stories I wrote for my A to Z last year.