The Last Thing, The Ring
The Word: Clamp
The last thing, the ring. So tight around her finger,
the flesh softly bulged. They had been married so long.
The ring. This noose, this clamp. And her finger, like a young tree
which someone had carelessly left wrapped in its supporting cable,
so that as the tree grew, it absorbed the cable into its very flesh.
That which had once supported it, was now so deeply embedded, she feared it was inextricable.
It had been years since she had seen the inscription.
A quote, a date she would learn to forget.
She soaked her hand in dishwashing soap. Turned and turned, her sweat dripping into the sink.
Clamp. Noun. A device used to hold an object in a fixed position.
It took a jeweler’s great jawed cutter to remove this object
from its fixed position.
And two lawyers.
Part of a weekly series of short short stories based on a writing exercise, The Word. “Inspired by a simple word, chosen at random, write a two-page double-spaced story, using the Word at least once.”
Next week’s word is: STAMP