“You’ll miss me,” he murmured finally, picking up his coat and walking out. He looked at her for a long time, his face infuriatingly blank. Her body felt hot and unsteady as she shoved him in the chest, hard. And if this is some crap about your big city dreams - I can tell you now, honey, sometimes you just gotta make peace with what you have.” He’d walked over to put his arms around her, and she’d twisted away. “I don’t want you to come round anymore,” she’d said yesterday, fingers clenched together, determined to keep her composure. Now, she put on Dolly’s Something Special album and closed her eyes, trying to put Dean’s smirking face out of her mind. She’d ignored Dean’s teasing and kept her lips firmly shut. Hadn’t everyone always said her voice was as sweet as a nightingale’s? She’d spent three years in New York now, waiting for her chance, waiting to show the world what she was capable of. Sing for me, baby.”īut it wasn’t just that - anyone could sing. “I want to sing,” she’d said, arms folded. She’d been pretty sure he was teasing her, but she could never tell with Dean. “It hurts me to see you unhappy, you know.” He’d had his dirty boots up on her table, arms folded behind his head. “Just give me a smile, will ya?” Dean had said only the other day. She’d then attended three more auditions and heard nothing back. In the last few weeks she’d mastered The Seeker, practicing every evening in the fading light until her throat was raw. She adored both Patsy Cline and Kitty Wells… but more recently she’d fallen in love with Dolly. Tracing soft fingers over her faded record collection, she bit her lip. She would put the music back on and fill up the apartment again. She stood up, annoyed, her chair skidding backwards over the floorboards. The city was grey outside, dripping like a watercolour painting, turning the light in the kitchen blue and fogging the windows with rain. Small and quiet, when only yesterday it had been filled with music and Dean’s laughter. The apartment seemed especially small today. She sat at the solid wooden table, running her fingers over the dried rings of wine bottle stains, picking up crumbs. Those who completed this challenge are now encouraged to share their stories in the comments section of the " April Writing Challenge." These entries from April's challenge were selected as Honorable Mentions.
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