The dark haired woman walked along the footpath on an isolated road at zero hours. Her eyes looked glassy, her wrinkled face, expressionless and she, unfocused, as if a spell had been cast on her and she was completely unaware of her surroundings.
Her life flashed in front of her eyes and none of the highlights brought back memories she could cherish. Instead, she was reminded of the time when she had discovered her best friend’s slender arms wrapped around her first love, their lips locked, and fingers intertwined.
A tear separated itself from the rest that had started to well up in her eyes, when she remembered the day her fiance stood her up at the alter. Whenever a guest questioned the absence of her fiance, “He must be stuck in traffic!”, she had said.
She fell to her knees and wailed with pain. The words that her eighteen year old son had said not more than an hour ago, echoed in the quietness.
“Don’t tell me what to do.
You’re not even my real mother!”
“Where did you pick me up from? Someone else’s lap?”
The woman sat with her face in her palms under the night and cried till those words were letters and the letters formed new sentences in her head.
Her life had always been nothing more than a lie, a facade, in which every moment wore a mask of happiness, laughter and of all things bright. And once she picked that moment, it showed its true colors to her. It revealed its miserable, horrible self.
Her heart ached, as she made her final pick and let herself fly off the infamous bridge, putting an end to the Facade.