Lisa Slodov

A Waltz In the Rain

Vivienne sat perfectly still as tears streamed silently down her face in tiny rivulets. She stared up at the pale half-moon through a hazy, partially opened bedroom window. Gone. Everything was gone now, save an ancient, defeated single chair upon which she sat, a twin mattress covered by thin, cheap sheets, and his stack of books cluttered in the corner. The only movement in the room came from some tattered window sheers that fluttered in the warm evening’s gentle breeze.