Falsehood – a cooking pot and twisted tales

Odette’s body shook uncontrollably as she blindly read and re-read the note; a dying man’s last confessions and her tears brimmed over.

She had always known and believed that Joshua was innocent, but no one else believed him and justice jailed him on circumstantial evidence.

They had been too poor to hire a good lawyer and had to rely on the States miserable representation, which had been a pitiful fulfillment of obligation.

Now this! A note exonerating her husband after so many years of misery and when it was too late, since Joshua died in prison, a broken man.

In a desperate need to take a long walk, she left the note on the old wooden table, picked up her shawl and stepped out into the bitter-cold.

Patting the blonde wig, she stares at her face in the gaudy mirror.

This would be her last night, yet she feels uneasy. Is it the anticipated move? Maybe! She thinks.

She is tired of moving. From one horse-shoe town to the next. One harshly lit stage to the other. How many wigs? How many stages? How many towns? How many names? She had lost count! Sometimes, her days start as Rita and ends as Melinda, or Mirabelle, Belinda, Katerina, Chloe and even Zoe!

Young Luc now asks questions.

“This will be the last time my love, she promises.” Finally, she has enough money to start allover in a sleepy town, with a new identity and new things away from stage lights.

The introductory act wraps up. Her cue is next.

Her crooning voice belts out heartrending tunes of a broken heart. The crowd soaks it in.

Her eyes wander nonchalantly across faces. His sizzling gaze hits her. Her pitch warbles to a halt!

Staring in wide-eyed disbelief, like a deer caught in bright lights, its her Nemesis and his goons.

In response to prompt photo from The Storytellers Abode for Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers. Thank you Etol and Priceless Joy for providing this platform.

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