Sunday Scribblings: Soar (or Sore)

Over at Sunday Scribblings, the word prompts are soar or sore. I chose the latter.

And Baby Make Three

He gauged her mood by the timbre of the pencil eraser as it beat against the folded Sunday Times. She beat out a hot, a jungle rhythm; a Morse code of mean.
He slid his coffee between hands on the counter, measuring a response that would diffuse her mood.
He read it as sore.
Sore.
She wasn’t pained, but she was tender. She was angry and she was irritated.
By what he had said. What he had asked.
About her womb. The emptiness of if.

5 comments:

Crafty Green Poet said...

that's excellent, I love the opening, very perceptive then the ending so very sad

nonizamboni said...

Fantastic--a word I hardly every use, because this was just that! Spare of words and full of great imagery...'Morse code of mean'
Thanks for sharing.

nonizamboni said...

Fantastic--a word I hardly every use, because this was just that! Spare of words and full of great imagery...'Morse code of mean'
Thanks for sharing.

nonizamboni said...

Fantastic--a word I hardly every use, because this was just that! Spare of words and full of great imagery...'Morse code of mean'
Thanks for sharing.

missalister said...

Nice slice of pain. Loved the “Morse code of mean” on the sacred Sunday Times :-)