Five Minutes Grace: Flash Fiction

Turning the brass key in the historical, all-seeing lock, she gratefully locked out the noise. The finely dressed lady now closed her eyes and laid a hot forehead against the kindness of a chilled door. She was alone. Truly, happily- albeit momentarily – alone.

Flinching from the bite of a snowy-white porcelain seat, she sat. Relief came. The defiantly cacophonous flow of a human bladder relieving itself, accompanied by her even breathing, made her feel a little better. She greedily imbibed on solitude.

Time ticked. Duty began to tap her prim toe and look indignantly at her nurse’s watch. An irate figure was Duty, without a whit of care for privacy or pain.

Time to return.

Reinstating the restrictive, claret-red taffeta gown, she now stood in front of the aged mirror. Searching for the girl inside the gown was becoming a habit. This time she failed to find that fun-loving character in the foxed glass. A heavy sigh. She again turned the brass key.

A decisive clang.

A disoriented key top, now devoid of a better half, dropped to the ancient tiled floor. It noisily bounced several times before falling to a peaceful stillness, leaving a solitary stump in its wake like an isolated sheep.
Attempts to open the door were futile.
No, she thought.

Grace lay back, once again, onto the now warmed bowl, the importance of her inherited dress forgotten. Closed her eyes. Drank in the peace.

Alone. Truly- albeit momentarily- alone.

All mothers need five minutes grace.

Even royal ones.

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