The Ring

She opened the closet to pull out her clothes, and there it lay staring at her. Elizabeth’s ring. She looked at the mirror, and started caressing her cheeks the same way her late grandmother used to, that warm feeling had escaped her soul, it was now faintly returning. She could hear her nickname being called, she could even taste the blossom filled air that always surrounded Elizabeth. Her eyes were not deceiving her because indeed her reflection was almost identical to her gran’s. All the memories of her were confined to the untarnished part of her life.
She stared at the ring on her finger, suddenly realizing the pain that it was inflicting by blocking her circulation. She damned these monstrous German hands she had inherited from her mother. She ferociously tried to twist the ring off. As if all the miserable years since then, came abruptly back, slapping her into reality. The ring finally removed, was tucked back into the drawer, and locked into safety. Her bruised finger another reminder of all that still needed to be done to re-equate the balance between what the reality is versus what it should be.

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