My attempt at frantic fiction inspired by the photograph below of a gramophone

‘I’ll be seeing you’ by Vera Lynn played hauntingly on the gramophone. Struggling to breathe, she looked past the floaty sheer curtain clad window of her enveloping bedroom with it’s dated floral wallpaper and worn furnishings to a determined hummingbird rapidly flapping its tiny delicate wings as it hovered above the nectar laden stunning bouquet that was her English cottage garden.

It was nearly a year ago that she sat and enjoyed the serenity of her garden with her husband who was then gravely ill. When in better health, he spent many a morning and afternoon tending to his rose and peony collection. Her wedding bouquet was a posie of pink peonies and claret red roses and so they were his favorite flowers to give her.

It was not long after one of the last afternoons spent in their treasured garden, that he suffered a stroke and weeks later died peacefully surrounded by his doting wife and their only daughter. Her anguish of loosing him was still agonizingly raw today as she remembered his rugged handsome face with its deep dimples that became pronounced when he smiled.

Her breathing was shallow and labored and she knew that despite every ounce of her will to stay a little bit longer that she too would soon slip away. Although she could see deep sorrow etched across her daughter’s face, she was very ready to leave this earthly abode and reunite with the love of her life. She longed for his protective embrace and a reassuring word whispered softly in her ear. She could no longer hang on – the pull was too great. As Vera Lynn sang ” I’ll find you in the morning sun, and when the night is new, I’ll be looking at the moon, but I’ll be seeing you”, her fragile chest expanded to allow her one last breath.