Writing Challenge: Starting Over

I have emails from WordPress to prompt bloggers like myself to write posts when all inspiration has dried up. This one caught my eye:

For some of us, blogging is personal. Others are trying to educate or entertain; many more are hybrids. Yet we’re all storytellers. Creative Writing Challenges help you to push your writing boundaries, show off your blogging chops, and, hopefully, spark more post ideas.

In this week’s writing challenge, we’re asking you to write a short piece of creative writing (fiction/poetry/prose poetry/freeform mindjazz/whatever floats your boat) on the theme of Starting Over.

This is what I came up with:

I stared down at the frame that I was clutching in my hand. Inside was a picture of two laughing  faces. I remember that picture being taken very clearly. Anton and I had gone to the park to take some photos. As there was no one around, we had put the camera on a timer. At the precise moment the picture was taken, two dogs appeared out of nowhere. The smaller of the two (I think it was a dachshund) decided to hump the hind legs of a golden labrador who didn’t look too impressed but had let it get on with it.

The owner waved at us before bellowing: ‘For god’s sake Trevor. Would you pack it in? Come here, you dirty, dirty mutt!’

Trevor ran over, with the golden lab bounding after.

I put the picture in my special ‘Anton’ box and looked around the lounge. It was weird. It was so empty. The TV was still there as were our settees, but our pictures, our wall hangings and furnishings had been taken away – boxed or sold. This house was someone else’s. Life as I knew it was dead. The happy times, filled with laughter were just hazy, distant, painful memories that I kept locked away in a vault inside my head.

I felt a sob rise up through me. I pushed it down. Today was not the day for tears. Today was a day for starting over. I have a new life waiting for me, just beyond my… the… front door.

I wandered from room to room, checking to make sure that I hadn’t forgotten anything. Anton had moved out a few days before. I watched him go from our bedroom window. He left without so much of a backwards glance. There wasn’t a fight or an almighty row. He simply told me one day that he didn’t love me anymore, and that was that. My relationship of five years, packed into a few boxes.

The almighty row came a few days later when I discovered a hotel receipt for one room, two names. Of course it was his secretary. It was a bloody, cheesy nightmare which goes like this: Husband works nights, wife suspects, unanswered calls, random ‘work’ trips away, the gifts, the smiles, the reluctant sex, the unreluctant sex, the insanity of the wife, the rows, the tears, the apologies, and finally, the proof.

Deep down I knew. I just didn’t want to face up to reality, but here I am. Today is a new day to start over.

I just need to walk out that door.

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