Day 4 of the challenge!
My theme is NIFTY NUGGETS. Little nuggets of writing based on a photo, a phrase and an object, which is designed to encourage lean, tight writing. I’m aiming for a word count of under 300 words.
Thank you to L.Diane Wolfe for providing the beautiful photo prompts. You can visit her blog to check out more pictures.
PHRASE – those who live in glass houses should not throw stones
OBJECT – button
It’s a rare find. The lady at the counter of Arabella’s Antiques on Second Avenue peers through her monocle. She studies the button. Then she peers down at my faded denim jeans and T-shirt before her eyes come to rest on my face. Probably not the dress code of her ‘normal visitors’, you know the ones who pull up outside the shop in a fancy Limo or even a Bentley.
I picked up the button at the foot of the statue. I suspect that the marbled lady left it there. Every day, when I pass the statue, I feel a sense of peace. She is beautiful, yet sad. Despair clings to her marbled surface. She stands devout and sorrowful yet there is a strong and unyielding resolve. Her upright carriage and head tilted downward. A woman of substance. Deep.
It’s an old valuable medieval shaft button made of metal, probably a pewter-based alloy. She delivers the verdict, dismissive and laced with a hint of impatience, darting a strange frown in my direction. I clutch the button. I know that look. It makes me sad. I see it all the time. Don’t judge. That’s what my mother always taught me. Don’t criticise others. Look at your own faults. Who is Miss-High-And-Mighty-Arabella anyway? Behind that professionally plastered smile and haughty appearance, who knows what demons haunt her “white picket fence” existence?
Want to know my truth? I am haunted by sadness. Every single day. Just like my devout lady. We have that in common. It makes me wonder about things. Does the antique shop lady ever feel sad? What possible sadness is concealed behind that smile? Why is the devout lady sad? Did the owner of the button ever feel acute sadness?Why do I feel constant sadness? I struggle to recall a time when the sadness didn’t exist.
I vow to return to the antique shop and sell the button.
There is still time to register for the classes that start next week.
I hurry past the statue and the wind unravels my scarf which billows on the air, and then settles on her shoulder and wraps itself around her tilted head. I dig deep into my pocket, squeeze the button and mouth a silent thank you to my marbled benefactress.