Grief Is the Painted Glass by C.C. Sweeney
“Are you alright Noel?” Pat Nolan asked as he puttered by in the compact tractor, “Stand in there off the road.” Noel looked to his left, noticing the wide gap he had left between himself and the bramble hedge.
“I’m alright Pat. Thanks.” He said, waving him on before he moved to occupy the space.
He went home that night and poured two glasses of chardonnay. It was much too dry for his liking but there was a warmth in the familiar label that even the crackling fire couldn’t provide. When the bottle sang as it hit the dining room table and the last tipple from it coated his throat, he worked on the generously filled, flower-painted glass that had warmed to room temperature.
“I’m alright.” he said, laying his head on the bare pillow that night. He had given up on the bed clothes after bleaching orange spots on the winter set and turning the guest set a splotchy hue of pink.
“I’m alright.” he rehearsed the line again, and almost started to believe it.
C.C. Sweeney is an English and History Graduate from Ireland with a passion for storytelling. Currently exploring the wide spectrum of fiction, they enjoy experimenting with form, voice and genre, particularly through flash fiction and short prose.
Photo courtesy of C.C. Sweeney
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