It's Still Life

6 of 27: Solacewrought – a Colour of Kindness That Asks for Nothing

6 of 27: Solacewrought – Kindness That Asks for Nothing

She stirs the lemonade with her straw like it might unlock something, and when she’s asked how she is—not her husband, not his cancer, but her—she stares at the glass like it just whispered her name.

Felreil sits two tables away, unnoted but listening, as she lets out a strangled laugh—sharp, dry, nearly a cough—and says she’d rather kill herself than sit in a room full of old people waiting to die; her friend, without flinching, simply replies, “Don’t slit your wrists; the aftermath is unkind to whoever finds you.”

The waitress arrives just then, and she thanks her with a voice so light you’d never know it was holding the weight of five months of vomit, blood tests, silence, and sleepless nights at the edge of his hospital bed.

There’s a moment—a blue-eyed pause—where she looks across the table, not like she’s been saved, but like someone has held the corner of the weight long enough for her to shift it.

Felreil watches the condensation trail down her glass like a wick melting; he doesn’t smile, but he bows his head—because this is kindness that never says “I understand,” only “I’ll sit with you anyway.”

And when the bill comes, and she laughs again—real this time—Solacewrought is already gone: barefoot, unseen, but still carved into the ice.

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The long-form liturgy poem for this Colour is here: Read (the liturgy is a stream-of-consciousness poem. If you haven’t read the brief Prologue (or Before) post, it be useful in understanding this series.

Previous Instalments – To access all of the instalments on one page, please use this link

Written for Denise’s Six Sentence Story including the word “bed”.  Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI, and is identified as such in the ALT text or captioned. Images are copyright and not to used without permission, which I willingly give when asked, and when not for commercial use. Imagery and poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2025.