Short story- the power of identity
Taking place when she was identified as “Franks wife”, when her husband misjudged the bank of the dam, hearing the sound of a tractor overturning. Covering the shock on her face, mourning over the outcome, he starts to go pale. The look on her face as if she saw her life was falling apart.
“I couldn’t imagine being alone, even if he is a pretentious prick.” Dialling the digits 000, directing the paramedics too frank, they boosted him on the stretcher and drove to the hospital, she met him at the hospital for the last few hours of her husband’s life.
Waking up, moving her arm across the bed to feel some type of connection, like someone, was there to wake up beside her to say good morning. When waking up to loneliness she decided to do something about the way she felt, to change the feeling of still being a prisoner in Frank’s life, in his cell, despite him not being around anymore.
Thinking to herself, “maybe I need help, maybe I should see someone like a psychologist or something.” faltering, moving hesitatingly, as if about to
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Slovak is feeling bad for leaving it on bad terms, letting him leave the way he did. The flexion of their marriage trying to ignore their problems, the guilt of wanting to move on and to forget about that part of her life, but looking for some type of answer. The past of her relationship with Frank was intense, from the complexity of her domestic relationship with Mr. Slovak, in an emotional and physical way, as if he had no intention of loving her, comparable to his shadow to fill in the emptiness, to fill a void in his life. Mr. Slovak was several year’s older than his wife, although he had very few wrinkles and grey hair’s. he was tall and handsome, what every woman would dream of. Being married to Frank, her knowledge of him became much clearer the longer they were together. Frank was a selfish man who only knew how to love