Fairy lights and Fog

I should well be winding down to sleep but the fairy lights in my window and the white fog resting in the garden is giving me a spike of creativity. Here’s some #amwriting gifts from me to you.

Helen meandered through to the bedroom, her eyes were tired and her feet were sore. Clocking off a fifteen hour shift in the Trauma room was heaven on earth and the click of her bra falling away was the release she needed. She could finally exhale the pent up emotion that had been pushed to one side so that she could focus and keep dashing from patient to patient. Her braided hair had pretty much given way and was resting in a knotted mess over her shoulder and only a quick hot shower would wash away the hard memories she’d taken away that day. Memories that had amalgamated and formed a cluster of anxiety in her chest and a pain in her heart.

Crawling into bed she felt the warm lump of her husband over on the other side hugging his pillow as if it were her. She smiled feeling comforted and laid behind him resting her chin on his limp sleeping arm. The curtains were still open in the gorgeous large bay window and Markus had left the fairy lights on that sparkled and glowed against the orb of the streetlight outside. There was a mystical fog resting over the small enclosed garden outside the bedroom window of the bungalow as car headlights lit up the silhouette of the tall hedge that protected their safe space.

Every time she blinked Helen saw someone in pain, someone suffering and someone crying out for her help and medical knowledge. That day alone she’d been dealt the hand of winter as icy roads bumped up the number of casualties coming her way. It was easy to become disillusioned by festive lights; the more they lit up, the deeper the Winter and the harder the consequences of the force of nature. Somehow after all the years Helen had still managed to maintain some love for Christmas, even if she was somewhat dampened than when first introduced to medicine.

“You’re home.” The sweet mumbles of her husband as he felt her presence caused her to stir from her deep thought. He laid back as she rested down into his chest and Helen continued to stare out at the beauty of the magical winter night. “What time is it?”

“Just gone four…” she whispered softly glancing up to see the beautiful peaceful expression of her darling husband who drifted in and out of sleep. Stroking his chest she turned her gaze back to the window, her eyes gently opening and closing as her thoughts wound down to sleep.

It was quiet all around. The low snore of Markus aided her rest and the tick of the alarm clock felt louder at each strike but all the more consoling to her tormented heart. All through Med school she had dreamed of saving lives, so to lose one would hurt all the more as she became better skilled in her profession. Helen wanted to be a hero, she didn’t want her patients to suffer and most of all she didn’t want to have to reveal loss to relatives at this most precious joyous time of year. It drained her, like an upturned water bottle or an hourglass being continuously spun.

To acknowledge the silence was a wish she made for every night. For there to be no words and no noise was vital to be able to walk back through the automatic doors to the pungent smell of a clinical atmosphere everyday. It refreshed her adoration of her duty of care.

Helen inhaled deeply, her lungs expanded and filled with sweet warm air circulated from the radiator at the bottom of the bed. To feel that breath was sweet as she had watched others take their last. In that second she felt grateful, she felt blessed and she felt lucky that she was given this gift of life to live. All too often in the past she had forgotten this causing her to spiral down and to question what she was worth to the world. Thankfully, Markus would be her saviour and carry her wounded mind through the dark patches so that she could once again appreciate this simple moment of rest.

Each limb and muscle became weak as it relaxed into her husbands arms. Her heart slowed as did her mind and piece by piece, Helen fell to sleep. Markus would awake soon after to feel his warm but wearied wife as she lay heavy on his chest. He smiled sleepily glancing down, her face expressionless and her beauty ran deep. Wrapping his arms round his wife Markus rested his head back into the pillow and fixed his vision on that mystical fog that cloaked everything outside the window. He too began to feel thankful and shortly after drifted back into a deep tranquil sleep.

Together, a husband and wife lay still. Asleep and rested. Grateful and blessed. These simple peaceful moments would be the strength of their marriage, it would be the foundation of their support and it would be the making of their eternity together. No words needed to be passed to cement their love, just the presence of comfort when one feels fragile and unsteady. Because is that not love? The simple quiet moments of feeling another close to you when lost and astray?

 

 

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