It's Still Life

Brigid Leaves the Highlands

Brigid twists Connor’s ring from her finger; it clicks against the wooden table—a sound too small for such a leaving. This isn’t abandonment, it’s an offering to the love that was.

Outside, the forest stitches dawn between the pines; her mug of tea steams, untouched, while the hush that follows carries faint notes of copper and yesterday’s thunder.

She runs a finger along the suitcase latch—metal biting skin, real and sharp—and snaps it shut; strange, how a life can be trimmed into something so small.

Connor’s ghost lingers in the window’s reflection, his smile half-lost in the misted glass—a distortion she chooses not to correct as she finishes her tea and leaves the door ajar, so the wind can reclaim what humans cannot hold.

She drives south, the tarmac humming under her tyres, and from somewhere in the tangled grass, a crow with a voice like flint striking iron calls to her.

→ Continued on Part 2.

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Written for Denise’s Six Sentence Story including the word “Trim” and RDP’s word “Latch“.  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.