Writing task: The day of the wedding (from the perspective of ‘The Lost’ Havisham)
I remember the strong smell of perfume had begun to make me feel nauseous; I’d over compensated perfume for nerves. Roses for eternal love and lilies for sweetness. Rose oil. I gently fingered the veleveted petals of the roses in my hair, blood red. It picked up the red in my cheeks. Flushed with passion. My heart pounded the sides of my ribcage, an excitable bird fighting to be set free. The gusts of wind from its tiny wings rushed around my head. Woozy, I gently lowered myself to seating at my dressing table. The fresh bride to be gazed back. And I gazed upon an unopened letter lent against the powder jar. Assuming it was yet another well-wisher I feverishly opened it.
black swirls of cursive ink. His hand. Hurried. The pounding in my ribcage, no longer an excitable bird. But a vulture oversized in it’s tiny cage. Wrought iron twisting in it’s sides. The heavily perfumed air was suffocating, sickening. Heavy on my heart. My broken heart. He’d left. He wasn’t coming back. There won’t be a wedding
…to be so easily replaced. Discarded. Unpurposed. Broken.
Estella if you remember one thing from me, remember that you must fight to stay free uncaged. A man will… All men intend to cage you; hurt you. Render you utterly flightless. You mustn’t let that Happen, Estella. You must not grace any man with your trust; I can’t let you be hurt. You’re precious to me. I keep you and you keep me alive.
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