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Scene #86
To say that Sarah was angry was an understatement. She was furious
beyond any redemption. She stood, clutching her cellphone, while
gazing about her lounge. Was it worthwhile throwing the infernal
device against the wall for the small satisfaction of seeing it
shatter into hundreds of small components? She drew breath in
small gasps, her lungs tight and there was a ringing in her ears.
It was Paul. Oh, she'd suspected, had been aware something was up
with his late hours at work, the social functions he'd not invited
her to. Sometimes it was better not to know, to pretend their
relationship could continue, even if she was well aware that things
couldn't carry on the way they were. His last words replayed
themselves over and over again. “Sarah, I need to tell you.” A
pause and a hesitant, indrawn breath. “I'm moving in with Cathy.”
“So, you're screwing her,” had been Sarah's response. Then the
blinding anger which had constricted her belly travelled up her
throat to lodge in her throat. There had been an uncomfortable
pause. “Yes.” Sarah had killed the call then, although
now, in hindsight, she had a dozen verbal barbs she wished to hurl
into him, words to pierce his heart, to poison the spineless
bastard who had to break up with her on the phone. Coward!
Three years of her life wasted. A wave of dizziness assaulted her
and Sarah's knees buckled. Lying dog! Hot tears prickled in the
corners of her eyes and she rubbed at her face with her palms, past
caring how she smudged her delicately applied makeup. Reality
bucked around her, the room spinning in and out of focus as she
struggled to breathe. Then she fell, her perspective warping
as she lost sense of up and down. A small part of her shrieked at
her, warned of another of what she termed “episodes” that she
really should be seeing a doctor or something. This small voice of
reason was lost, however, in the violent flood of images assailing
her, of wings beating against a star-punctured sky. Big wings, and
the cool rush of air chilling her skin as she soared and plunged
over a coruscating array of lights, the city, seen from above.
A fire burnt in her belly and when Sarah opened her mouth, a great
gout of flame blazed forth with a roar. * * * * The
grandfather clock struck the hour and Sarah sat up with a start.
The westering sun painted long bars through the gap in the curtains
and she blinked rapidly, a ball of nausea coiling in her belly and
the sickening sensation that the room dilated and contracted. When?
How? Her last conversation with Paul came to mind and instead
of the anger, a crippling sense of loss flooded her.
“Bastard.” To her ears, she whimpered the word. It was no
surprise that she should suffer another episode due to the stress,
and it was just one more woe to add to the litany of issues she had
to deal with, like losing her job, that she had to terminate the
lease on her apartment and look for someplace less expensive to
stay, and that she had to find some other means to support herself.
Not for the first time this day, Sarah found herself wondering if
she were somehow cursed.
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