“You are cordially invited….” ad nauseum blather, yet the letters rambled on across the creamy linen paper. She gritted her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut, briefly opening them only to feel the words, sharp and cold as ice drive into her heart …”Highest Award”…”1st novel”…”Bestseller “. She really didn’t want to finish reading. Enough was enough. She had been the protagonist for the entire sordid tale, and really, this fancy-schmancy ceremony was just a bit much of an over the top finale.
It was her life story that had been spilled all over those pages, her love, her loss, her sadness…. her madness. Her blood-sweat-and yes, tears, had been stolen right out from under her and it was all just too much to bear. I mean, there outta be a law right? Where was a cop when you needed one? He was a plagiarist plain and simple. It should be her award, not his!. All these thoughts flashed through her mind in a nanosecond and fueled the fire of her anger.
Behind her back he had composed the story of their love affair and then he had walked away, leaving her alone and wordless. What really sauced her chicken was the fact that when writing the ending, he didn’t have the cojones to tell the truth. She deduced he had caved under the advice of his pushy agent, to go the route of the “happily ever after” syndrome that was so very popular on bestseller lists. This then brought her to extrapolate the cause of all his success should be blamed on those damn blue haired, hoity-toity romantics, that had more disposable income than good sense and could afford to pay full sticker price on the hardback editions-even one build on lies. It was becoming evident to all that knew her, she had more than enough blame to spew around and rage was the only thing that could fill the void where no fairy tale ending had ever existed.
She turned the invitation over in her hand. The ball was now back in her court. She could R.S.V.P, go and rise to the occasion with grace and dignity or she could continue to rant and rage in her ever shrinking universe of sadness. Slowly ever slowly she started to tear the watermarked sheet into little shards that fell softly to the floor. Something had snapped, finally, and she began to realize then that in his inability to pen the truth, she had lost her ability to face the same.
The Plot Thickens, Thursday:
(1) an invitation, and (2) [author chooses] something frozen