Love Which Is My Boast

• Caisa Tottszer, Grade 12
• Short Story
• 2013

The dull white paint barely crumbled as she leaned gently against the timeworn stained-glass windowsill, light flakes dropping to the floor as if a gust of wind had passed. Barely visible, she gazed upon the wide abundance of welting, petal-less flora the garden had to offer. Primarily consisting of moulding broken branches, lifeless spiky rose stems, and a thick icing of snow, Vivienne stood smiling, basking in the beauty and the warmth she found in her old, Louisiana home.

Pushing off against the windowsill, Vivienne looked behind herself and drifted towards the creaseless bed. Viviennes bed was once a calming sanctum, hoping she would feel the same again; she sat on the bed, hearing less than a crumbling sound from the crispy sheets underneath her, as if only a gust of gravity pushed into the sheets. Yearning her own memories, she recalled in the time of her youth. Her days spent in childish adventures; the most memorable where her days spent in love.

Bringing to mind her past memories, she remembered one early morning, where the grass and flowering Broom shrubs were touched with the lightest layer of morning dew. Vivienne was happy this one morning. Though it was not until she saw a young man walking towards her in the distance, she felt mesmerised.

His eyes were as blue as the sky and his face so chiselled and defined. And that one momentous early morning, Mr James was walking towards Vivienne.

After their first encounter, Vivienne remembered strolling more and more often in the garden, with simple hopes they would meet, and assured they did. Their meetings started out as a simple fondness for each other but soon enough their relationship climaxed.

Though it was one evening she had organised to meet Mr James in the garden, that. She waited for hours around the place they would meet each other. She waited until the sky turned dusky before becoming so infuriated and upset.

Furious, Vivienne stormed back to the house. She noticed a letter in the middle of the pathway, placed underneath a small rock. Questioning its placement, she opened the letter. It was her favourite poem by Ms Elizabeth Barrett Browning. She recognised the handwriting; it was madly cursive and hardly legible. It was written by Mr James. She recalled continuing to read with high expectations of what was about to read on.

…I will not ever forget you, I will not ever spend a day not thinking about you. I regret this.
Mr James.

Vivienne, in a fume of emotions ran frantically into the darkened garden, full of weeds and long grass, home to many harmful vermin and creatures. Though suffering from a severe case of heart break she did not stop, she kept running.

She remembered panting so heavily she could hardly breathe, still trying to find the words to express her regret.

She remembered running far into the garden, where there was no longer an illumination of house lights behind her, Viviennes gown had got caught on a rock. Throwing her violently onto the ground, her head firmly thumped on a sharp rock.

Now, sitting in her old room, in the same gown she had worn that very evening, Vivienne could only remember that day spent with Mr James. Vivienne recalled that evening 72 times, and to Vivienne her last living memory felt almost like reality.