Jefferson - InsanityThe candlelight was waning, but I took no notice. I couldn't, even as the wax dripped down the holder and threatened to hit my paper--I had to finish this letter; I could not leave it for the morning. With my back hunched over my desk, my fingers cramping after writing for so long, I was beginning to feel like myself again. I didn't want the moment to leave.
"Mr. Thomas?" Elizabeth's entrance had been so subtle I had not heard it; I jumped. "Mr. Thomas, you should be getting to bed soon. It's awful late." I heard her place a dish at my elbow, and I glanced over at it. A half-empty cup of broth.
Elizabeth remained at my side, but I turned her away with a flick of my wrist. She curtsied and left just as silent as she'd come. The door shut, I was alone again.
I sighed and pushed my broth away; when I returned to my quill, my hand was trembling. Your letter found me a little emerging from the stupor of mine which had rendered me as dead to the world as she whose loss occasioned it--
Jefferson - Bets"If I win ." Martha was charming when she thought: her eyes narrowed as looked into the distance and she bit her bottom lip lightly as she considered the things she could have me do if I lost this bet. Her face lit up for a short second as she came upon her answer. "If I win, you have to buy me a new hat." She smiled. "If you win ," she trailed, waiting for me to continue the sentence.Jefferson - Bets5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"If I win," I replied, and before I could stop myself--before I knew what I was doing--I completed, "I get to kiss you."
My eyes widened in surprise and a blush crept up my neck as I heard my voice answer. What? Had I really said that aloud? I had only meant to think it, to keep my confession locked inside my head. I hadn't tried to be so straightforward! I was mortified, and a feeling of dread swept over me. What would she think of me now? I sputtered in an attempt to fix my faux pas.
To my surprise and delight, she merely laughed. "All right, Mr. Jefferson," she said through giggles. She held
it's time...Martha could distinguish whispers but no clear voices: four, maybe five unidentifiable faces were standing in the dark room, waiting. But on the edge of her bed, a familiar warmth and companion.it's time...2 years ago in Scraps More Like This
-It's time… she murmured just for him.
-No, not yet, Thomas leaned to peck her sweaty forehead, Not now, my dearest dear. A few locks of his ginger hair brushed her cheeks and she suddenly wondered when was the last time he left her bedside to rest or refresh. Her lips curled up in a weak smile at his words.
Knuckles whited by the disease, Martha's fingers gripped his sleeve to pull him closer.
-Tom, we… both met Death enough in our lives to recognize when it is coming…
Her chest rose and fell again. He could feel each of her breath on his own lips, each of her breath getting heavier than the previous one, each of her breath killing his sweet Patty.
-… and… I always knew… that I would go before you—
Thomas prayed for her. During hours. Far from any witness eye
Her wakeHer wake1 year ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
And there she was, Martha Wayles Skelton Jefferson, lying on the white bed, surrounded by colourful flowers that didn’t seem so colourful to Thomas at all. The pale skin glued to her bone structure like a soft silk hugging the body of the woman he loved the most. She had soft dark shades under her eyes that used to have a beautiful hazel colour.
“The eyes I never got tired of looking at.” He thought to himself.
Her gorgeous, long, light, brown, wavy hair seemed to have lost its vivid colour.
“The hair I used to smell. That soft smell of roses you always had on your hair.”
The corpse of his beloved had Martha’s favourite dress, a light beige one with soft yellow lines.
“The dress she wore the first time we ever saw each other.”
On her neck she was bearing a golden necklace with a golden cross.
“The golden necklace I gave you as a birthday gift.”
On her left hand, there was the golden ring.
The wedding ring.
“The ring I pl
soft skin against wrinkled skin-soft skin against wrinkled skin2 years ago in Scraps More Like This
It was late. At this period of spring the sun started to take its time to go down, as lazy as the poor souls its first warm rays lashed.
Despite the chandelier on the table, his old eyes couldn't read any longer; Thomas carefully placed a paper between the pages and put down the book on his lap where a blanket already rested. It had become a habit -almost a routine- for years to end the day on the terrace behind the house, just a few steps from the open door, a pipe occasionally between his lips.
Two hands marked by the years took his glasses from his aquiline nose, 3 or 4 grey hairs caught in the metallic arms.
Head against the back of the chair, he closed his eyes, nothing to listen but the wind of May on the grass and the subtle but regular beating of his heart.
The sky was clear tonight ; tomorrow will be fresh.
"I like what you did with the house…"
"Of course there are some colors on some curtains that I wouldn't have chosen but… as a whole, I really like it."