She pulled the kimono around her thin body. The brilliant reds and golds faded; the sensual silk worn at the elbows. She rambled the corridor to her kitchen. Had she eaten lately? She pulled the box of all natural oatmeal cookies from the cupboard. Placed two on her favourite plate. Velocity had made the piece, painting butterflies and sunflowers around the edge. The plate was a birthday present. She didn’t have birthdays anymore. She carefully measured Fair Trade French Roast coffee into her drip cone, lined with a filter made from reusable resources.
She went back to the front room to get her Sunday Times crossword puzzle. The theme seemed to be word plays on insolent comments. She stooped to pick up a dropped winter glove, looking for it’s mate in the foyer. She forgot about coffee until the kettle’s whistle was audible.
Back down the corridor. She never turned the lights on here. Squares of light front and back were enough. All the mirrors and mirrored surfaces turned to the wall. Hags with sardonic pointing fingers always would stare back at her. Empty spaces where picture frames once hung were delineated by the brighter spots of wallpaper. The photographs made her sad. She put all of them in a box. Where was the box now?
The kettle was screaming. She lifted it off the stove. Forgotten while she looked for her pencil. Forgotten as she was.
Written for Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Wordle 53