If Only

A flicker of light, and her face is revealed. She is wearing a world of make-up, from eyeliner to foundation. Her eyes are like drooping sunflowers. She is wearing a bright colour. It looks like yellow. Yellow? But before I can decide, the light is gone.

*

He's gone, she thinks, hopelessly. Unable to comprehend it. Too great a loss.

She is wearing a yellow shalwar kameez with bangles around her arms. Her face is masked with make-up. She had decided to put on more make-up than ever in the morning. After all, how can he be gone if I'm wearing yellow? If I'm dressed up? she had reasoned. But now she felt awkward, out of place. Everyone was staring at her. They had all known about her affair with him, and had expected her to be crying, wringing a hankerchief and tearing her hair out. Now they dismissed her as a flirt, a common prostitute.

But they don't understand, do they? They think that I should be weeping with them on that damn mud next to that damn coffin. Why?? To express my love for him? What else have I been doing all these years? Playing wife? She curses silently. The funeral had started. The priest started saying something, doing something...Something. Who cares?
She turned around and her kameez gets caught in a scraped bark. She curses again and tugs. Riiip! The dress was mocking her. She slaps the tree angrily.

*

She is pulling at her dress. It is yellow. Not black. Why not? Oh well. I'll worry later. I do not have much time. Only a few seconds of illumination, I have discovered.

But this time I am ready. I swerve around and face her, peering into her huge eyes. Little painted black lines, delicate and soft; her eyelashes.

But it is dark. Again.

*

Now her hand hurt. But no matter, no matter. More than her hand had hurt for all of these years.

He will be glad, she thinks, I'm not attending his arch enemy's funeral.

He had never been able to stop her. He knew, of course. He had heard the rumours but did not have enough proof to divorce.

She would have divorced with or without a reason, and if that wasn't possible, separated. But he was scared of what people would think. So she couldn't. The three had agreed on that, though she had needed persuasion.

She smiles grimly. That was all that her two lovers had ever agreed on.

*

She is thinking now. And now smiling. A regretful smile? Oh, how many regretful smiles have crossed my face now a days?! If only I had listened to her! She was right. Who cares about him? I should have listened! If it weren't for what people would have thought!

*

She wonders if he was watching her now? What would he be saying? Was he in heaven or hell? So many questions she wants to ask Him, and him.

A twig snaps. She whirls around. Who was that? she thinks, alert. Soon her question is answered. Out from behind the bushes appears a big, unshaven man with the appearance of a drunkard. He strides towards her, surprisingly fast, and roughly grabs her arm.

"So you think that you can watch his funeral from here, huh? Pretending not to notice how people are talking, eh? Well, you can't fool me, you damn fool!! I've waited long enough for this moment, when I'd have you all to myself." He grins wickedly. "See, you made a mistake marrying me. But never mind. Your beauty makes up for it." He cackles, sounding like a witch.

She pulls away from him. "Just leave me alone! This is all your fault, do you understand?! You damn drunkard! You think I don't know what you do every night? Huh?" He is momentarily shocked. But his face grins horribly again.

"And you think that I didn't know what you did every night?? But not anymore. I forgive you." He grabs her again and starts kissing her, wildly. He claws at her dress, at her reluctant body...

*

I have seen enough. That damn fool! If only she had divorced! Why was I so stupid?? But she can't hear me. If only she knew what he has done to me! If only she knew...