This week's magpie prompt:
Before I met him, I knew nothing of that life, a life in which things and people existed not necessarily for their function, but their beauty. Our first evening together, I’d picked up that tiny crystal salt dispenser, like a magpie attracted to something small and shiny, wondering why there was no salt in it. He’d laughed at me as his right hand slid down the side of my face, telling me that something beautiful is not required to perform. That was his first lie.
The night of his death, I remember arriving at the party. The beam of his car lights shone across the pebbled drive. I wore a simple black dress with steely pearls, my hair worn up off my neck, a blonde fringe hanging sideways across my face. I wore earrings that dangled and glistened like fairy lights, another magpie treat. To the outside world I gave the impression of sophisticated togetherness, whilst inside I was a jigsaw of broken pieces.
I can still see the look of eagerness in his eyes; that party was going to get him up close and personal with those that mattered. He turned and eyed me for the first time that evening, his smile said he approved. The trophy female; all part of the persona, but then both of us were playing that particular game.
When he opened the car door, I thought about not moving, that somehow I could control what fate had in store. The lights and sounds of the party spilled onto the drive as if calling for a dance. I heard my feet crunch on the pebbles and my body moved, almost as if it belonged to someone else.
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