The Space Between Us, MicroHorror, October 2010

The space between us at this moment is just about six feet. That’s a lot closer than we’ve been during the last couple of years, though on this occasion that six-foot space is packed with cold, damp earth.

I miss you.

We were inseparable, you and I. Soul mates, that’s what people called us.

But then the spaces started. At first it was just the spaces in our conversation, those few seconds during which you realized I’d spoken, and tried desperately to remember what I’d said.

Then came the space in your head: that absent gaze, seemingly looking right through me. You began to forget birthdays, anniversaries, meetings.

But I really hated the space in our bed. Oh, your body was there; well, at first it was, but your soul could have been on the moon for all the union there was between us. I was so lonely then.

And finally there was the space in our home. After you’d gone. You needed space, you said.

To be with your new lover, your new soul mate. Sharing her space.

Divorce, you proposed. Leaving a space where our marriage used to be.

I thought not.

That was when I knew you would have to die. If I were to heal… if I were to pick up the threads of whatever life I could scavenge for myself, there had to be a space where you used to be. There was no way I could survive as long as you still did.

I spent weeks planning your murder. It had to be perfect, and I had to be certain that I could not be implicated. What good would derive, if I were to languish within the claustrophobic confines of a prison cell for the rest of my life? No space to breathe.

Poison, I decided… for I couldn’t bear to mark your perfect form in any way.

But things never go according to plan, do they?

Like the true soul mates we were, you too felt there should be a space where I used to exist.

So tonight, or maybe tomorrow, I expect you’ll open that special bottle of Puligny Montrachet, the one I gave you that day, just before you pushed me off the bridge. You and your new soul mate will toast to my passing and your newly acquired space.

Your death shouldn’t be too painful, my love; I did my research very carefully. I never wanted you to suffer. And you always loved a good Montrachet.

For the moment we are in different places, occupying difference spaces. But when I bought this plot I made sure to reserve a space beside me for you. The least I could do for a soul mate.

I’ll see you soon, sweetheart.

  • Copyright: © 2010 Sandra Crook
  • Published October 2010 by
  • A prizewinning entry in the 2010 Microhorror Hallowe’en Contest

About Sandra

I used to cruise the French waterways with my husband four or five months a year, and wrote fiction and poetry. Now I live on the beautiful Dorset coast, enjoying the luxury of being able to have a cat, cultivating an extensive garden and getting involved in the community. I still write fiction, but only when the spirit moves me - which isn't as often as before. I love animals, F1 motor racing, French bread and my husband, though not necessarily in that order.
This entry was posted in Flash Fiction and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

I'd love to hear your views; it reassures me I'm not talking to myself.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.