The Night Before

The eve of change

Raffaella Ferretti

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She is sitting alone on the worn-out brown sofa, a silent presence in the large sitting-room’s dim yellowish light. Her house is now becoming quiet, visited by the long shadows of the evening. She is only hearing the regular snoring of her old dog, Luna.

Her own light snoring, on the other hand, always annoyed her husband. He deplored it so much that, one night, he made up a cot for her in the studio, in the midst of that mess. Peremptory, he stated, “When you’ve fixed this problem, you may come back and sleep in the bedroom again!”

He threw her, her mattress and pillow out of their master bedroom. She felt it unfair, especially because she always slept at home, not like him, who regularly stayed five days and went away for a week. She had chosen on purpose that room out of the others, right because it faced the paddock. And besides, he snored too!

She didn’t argue for long. But she did vividly imagine jumping at his throat and punching his face, wishing to see him KO to the ground. She wanted her revenge, but in the end, she just had to accept the situation because it was late at night. Her hope of winning the discussion with him was minimal anyway, and she didn’t want to wake up and upset the children.

What stung the most was her wounded pride and the fact of being alone to endure that continuous deep and dull resentment which filled her entire abdomen, swollen with powerless rage and voiceless fury. Her condition would therefore last, exploding in an ever more powerful snorty snoring.

Repressed rage. Seethed rage.

Yet another attack aimed to deplete her life of her basic rights.

He had ousted her. She had only to accept her new place.

A few months later and all within three days, first the thieves and then the shocking earthquakes were the distressing events — and of course, her husband was not there — that offered her the right excuse to deceive her wounded ego.

So she readily left the studio, where she had been sleeping since, and moved downstairs in the sitting-room: at night, she was always alert, in a constant watch for unexpected dangers. She believed her delusional thinking and encouraged herself: “I rather sleep here, on this

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Raffaella Ferretti

Life always surprises me when I look for direction and measure. Writing poems and stories, Editing respectfully, and Teaching children. In the holistic sphere.