The Fly in the Room

They had nothing to say to each other. Sitting across from one another at a stone table, wrists chained together.
The room was small and dark, with a simple square window cut in the middle of the east wall. Glassless. The walls were made of the same cold, wet-feeling granite as the table. In the middle of the table sat a framed photo of a child.
On one side of the table sat a woman, the other a man. They weren’t making eye contact.
The steady drip of water could be heard, but where the sound was coming from they did not know.
Waiting. What they were waiting for was a mystery, but they waited anyway. Silence and stillness–and that picture–their only companions.
The woman began to softly hum “Amazing Grace”. The vocal noise in and of itself was not disconcerting, but the echoic hum after each note grated on the nerves.
“Shut up,” the man said. These were the first words uttered in hours.
She grew quiet.
Time passed, and the rays of a rising sun shone through the window. The quiet trill of a bird floated through on a breeze. As the couple sat there, a tiny fly flew into the room and alighted on the photo of the child.
“Well, I suppose that’s that,” the woman whispered.
“Yes,” the man agreed. “That’s that.”

Published in: on June 28, 2011 at 12:33 am  Comments (3)