Everyone has a story. They shape who we are and lead us onto the path we are on. Each story is different. There are happy ones, sad ones, great ones and insignificant ones. Yes, there are many stories in this world, but often, the greatest ones are found right around your corner.
In the cold, gloomy streets of London, a lone figure stands hunched under a coat in the corner. Her rheumatism-infected fingers move fluidly across an old, yellowed ivory flute and music dances out merrily despite the pain endured by its player.
A slim black case stands beside the crooked figure, and in it laid a couple of notes and a few coins. Wrapping her coat tightly around her, the elderly female picked up the case and melted into the crowd.
The hall was open and inviting. She stepped into the threshold and warmth from the heater swept over her frozen body. She sighed in relief. A young man standing by the doorway handed her a hymn book and smiled at her. “Hello. Nice to see you again. How are you?”
“Never better,” she replied as she hobbled to her seat.
Never better. How different things were now. Although physically nothing had changed, yet, now, there was a calm peace enveloping her soul.
Despite everything she had been through however, she never regretted marrying him. Her wedding day always was and always would be, one of the best days of her life. The celebrations were held on a cool autumn’s day, brilliant red and gold leaves floated around her, landing on the long train that trailed gracefully behind her. She smiled, her long lashes brushing against her ivory complexion. His back was to her, and as she approached, he turned, happiness lighting up his features as he drew a sharp breath. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,” he whispered as he curled her fingers around hers.
“My Prince Charming,” she’d always told him. “That’s what you are,” she’d whisper in his ear as she leaned in for a kiss. She had always imagined that they would live normally. As regular people, with regular lives, with the exception of maybe just a dash more romance in their marriage than the average couple. But unfortunately, imagination is never a reliable mirror of reality.
All major events are set off by the littlest of things. A small spark can start the fire that devours a whole forest. A false accusation can lead to war. And as for the Becketts, a quiet knock opened the doors to years of hardship.
Mrs Beckett was setting the table as a gentle rap sounded on their door, and therefore it was he who welcomed their uninvited guest. “Mr Hayden Beckett?” A clear voice reached the ears of the blonde housewife. “Yes?” her husband answered, curiosity evident in his eyes. “London police. You are charged with the murder of Miss Katina Harris. You have the right to remain silent,” the officer told him as the handcuffs clicked into place.
The two years of trial changed their lives. She screamed and protested “He would never hurt a fly!” was a phrase that passed through her lips everyday for two years. Meanwhile, society shunned her. Dark expressions, curious eyes, turned backs and loud whispers followed her every move. He, on the other hand, withdrew into himself, ignoring the events that engulfed him, hiding himself in a corner of his soul.
Sympathetic officers tried to console his grieving bride. “Schizophrenia,” they told her. “You never would have known.” But what use was sympathy now? Her life was shred to pieces, shards that sliced her with every step she took.
to be continued...
note from author: another assignment! tell me what you think? :)
photo credits to: www.onthefrenchriviera.com
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