• FTB Literary Group

Mauve and the Moon -Ida Williams

He sat glumly at the bar, frowning into the top of his beer. It was all her fault. The whole senseless argument. He took a gulp and swished the liquid round in his mouth before swallowing. How was he meant to know that mauve meant purple? If she had said purple curtains, he would have bought purple curtains. He turned the glass round in his hands. It was silly. She should have gone herself. If it was that important, she should have gone searching for two hours. Walking all around the department store looking in vain for the sales assistant. Playing the words said an hour before over again in his mind didn’t seem to help. He sighed. What was wrong with the curtains they had already?

Around him, the normally busy pub was growing uniquely still, as everyone clustered around the small tv set sitting on the end of the counter. Of course, he’d have to apologize. Somehow it was always up to him. He drained his glass. Stupid mauve. A silent hush had fallen over the room, only a few coughs and the clinking of glasses could be heard. He looked over to the blurred image on the screen. Broadcast live from a world away, they all stared at the back and white picture as it flickered in and out. Insignificant mauve was momentarily cast aside as he leaned forward to watch a man take his first steps on the moon.

Ida Williams is a freelance writer. She works mostly in the misty realm of historical fiction, sometimes wandering around Victorian London or listening to jazz in a 1950s New York Cafe.

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