I'm so pleased you've returned to read A Page of Love. I will be doing a post every now and then called "Writings - From A Page of Love" and this is the first one. It's where I will share with you short examples of fictional writing that either I have been working on, or I wrote sometime in the past. Not all of them have been developed into something more, and yet some of them capture a place in my heart and slowly weave their story onto the screen.
Todays "Writings - From A Page of Love" is entitled; 'The Small Price for Love' and has been developed beyond this point to tell a story in two era's - present day and the 1920s. The section I am sharing today is from the present era. I hope that you enjoy reading it, and I would absolutely love your feedback if you would be so kind and have the time.
"I decided to have a thorough spring
clean in the middle of November. My husband wanted me to rest. I bargained with him and closed the deal on
the understanding that I cleared the clutter only in the bedroom. A good deal I
thought. Just like the time I was at an antiques store and haggled with the
manager over a dressing table that was quite clearly not worth £950 and
celebrated my victory when he sold it to me for £480. In fact the dressing
table was where I first began my ‘clear the clutter’ zone.
I stroked the
beautiful mirrored surface and recalled the moment I first brought it home and
it immediately found its rightful place, nestled underneath the window. The
muslin sashes hanging in the window perfectly softened the rising sun as it
reflected into my room, greeting me with warmth each morning. I’d always wanted
a dressing table since a child, that along with a handsome man as my husband.
So when I saw this dressing table in that tiny little shop, I simply had to
have it to ensure both my dreams had come true.
My
gaze lowered to the drawers along the sides, choosing to delve into the depths
of those on the right side first. The top drawer gently opened to reveal the
beautiful gifts of jewellery laid out in all their glory. I removed each piece
carefully one by one. There were necklaces in an array of colours, some
inherited, and some bought specifically for me. Yet each piece told a story.
I reached
further into the drawer and pulled out what felt like a small circular button.
I looked down and noticed a strange looking coin. I’d never seen anything quite
like it before. I wonder how it got there. The date upon the surface of the
coin read 1923. "
© Dawn Brierley 2012
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