It's Still Life

A View on Voyeurism

Louise’s kitchen window faces two houses: Alison’s, her husband, a retired podiatrist, and Jean’s — her husband lies face-down between the hydrangeas and the electricity meter.

Southeast Ambulance Service stands with him, or rather does not; the defibrillator is put away, as if it’s a game they lost interest in playing.

“I think he’s dead,” Alison texts, “that’s what my husband says,” and Louise reckons he should know, having checked bunions for thirty years.

Louise steps back from the window, a pretend privacy.

“I suppose I should send flowers,” Alison adds, “even though I never liked the nosy woman.”

Louise pulls out every pot and pan she owns and starts cooking: soups, casseroles, stews, a lemon drizzle that Jean once complimented — because she knows that grief eats everything except food.

Written for Denise’s Six Sentence Stories including the word ‘check’.  Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI. Imagery and poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2026.