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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/789092-The-Black-Swan
Rated: 18+ · Short Story · Experience · #789092
A fictional piece of work concerning women.
She came into her office noticing that there were purple, blue and yellow daisies in water on her desk. Ever since she’d gained the position of an exec in this particular architect business firm, flowers were given her every day.

She played with her ballpoint, then went straight to opening the computer to the architect’s web page. She was to help the top architect plan several rooms with her designs in mind, for a rich client.

Her boss suddenly strode into the room, finding her there alone. They both shared Sharon’s horrid secret.

“So you’re getting the abortion then, Sharon.?”

“Yes, Cynthia.”

“How can you do such a thing? I mean, so you don’t love him. It’s such a risk. And your health is important to people like me here at work.”

“Oh, hell, Cynthia, I don’t give a damn about what anyone says.”

“It’s not like you don’t have any money for this baby. You share the wealth in this company. I just feel so sorry.”

“Oh, stop it.”

Cynthia left Sharon’s office abruptly. Sharon, although she wanted the abortion badly enough, did not want to totally stop seeing him. It was just last evening that she had been with him. It was then that she told him she was with child. He had thrown the whole affair up in the air, giving her the go- ahead to get the abortion. Why hadn’t either of them thought it out and keeping their futures together in a good way? Why does a black swan swim with the white ones?

It was six-thirty or so, when Sharon finally left her office. The dark sky looked foreboding. She was always staying late, finishing up expensive designs. Her secretary in the front office had left her light on, having already one. The other empty offices made her freeze in her tracks, knowing how important the Strand Corporation was.

Once, when the world was young for her, Sharon took courage in having everything come her way. She took the good with the bad, it was mostly good. Now she was twenty-nine and re-located in the city. The fresh faces of glamorous strangers brushed her side day by day. She was truly a professional interior designer. A profession with attitude and lucrative possibilities. A big hit.

Sharon, sensing that the whole affair of losing a baby would bring into play deep remorse, tried to avoid telling anyone else. Cynthia, the woman who knew everything about everything there was to know, would probably forgive her in the end, she thought.

She ended up at her apartment with a small pizza that she stopped off to buy, walked in and threw her car keys on the end table in the foyer. Watching the TV click on, she then switched it to a radio station with jazz playing on it. The mess in the kitchen was soon cleaned up as she hummed to the music, ran up the stairs and after running bath water, jumped into a bubble bath in the tub.

She let the warm water soak her body, melting into the thought of a dream-infested midnight. Were those drafts going to be good enough?, she thought. What else could happen? She had faith in her ability to please the other execs. Cynthia knew it was the fact that Sharon was having a hard time pleasing her boyfriend that was ironic--life seemed beautiful just the way it was. Sharon wanted to go on in her dream-world without being touched by becoming a mother. She knew she was selfish, she just couldn't help but play the cards the way she felt they should be played. Suddenly the phone rang. It must have been seven-thirty or so.

“Sharon, baby, it’s me.” His voice was almost a whimper.

“What do you want?”

“Just thought I’d call you. I know you don’t want to be torn away when you are working on a draft, but I can’t help it. I love you doll.”

“You know what we agreed to.”

“And what was that?”

"That we wouldn’t see each other until after the abortion.”

“Ohhhh, Sharon, can’t I come up tonight. I know we agreed about this, but I can’t stop loving you. I should be by your side on this, shouldn’t I?”

“I’m not sure. I’m just not sure.” She had tears in her eyes. It may have hit Sharon in a different light on a different day, but she was not stepping down from her position. She remained strong. Was he really the man for her? She just couldn’t trust him. He had no money, they weren’t married. At times, he had to be a loafer. Well. The money just wasn't in his pockets. Whether there was a future for the two of them, she didn’t know off-hand.

She was runnnig a course of a million miles away from him in the city and she didn’t know if it all made sense. Push, push. Her life simply broke apart. She looked like a walking Eygptian in her bedroom after dark, flowing through lullabies of icy water. Even as the first constellation loses its luster in the sky as they all fill a void of darkness, so her relationship had went. They were only one couple among many that this had happened to. She would lose a baby through ignorance.

Probably just another fairy tale gone bad. That was what Sharon was.

Her mind was fuzzy. She recalled watching "Love With The Proper Stranger”as a rerun just last week. She was no Natalie Wood. She had the money. She had the man's consent. She just didn’t have the will to want a baby.

So. A good woman would go down. She blew out a small scented candle on her vanity. Then leaving her mind to be put to rest, she was about to fall off the edge of the earth, caressing sleep. Tomorrow would be a long, tortuous day for her. As she stood staring in the vanity mirror, she took the string of pearls her lover had given her and crushed them in her hand, breaking them apart. She made one deep cry for help, and then fell back on the pillow naked. She was just another dusty angel destined to fall.

**************

Unfortunately, I was a real victim of an abortion at a mid-life age, not unlike the woman I speak of in this fictional work. So were two of my girlfriends at an earlier one. It is not an easy thing to go through. I am strongly pro-life now in my view, and can not tell you the pain and suffering that goes with the act.
© Copyright 2003 VictoriaMcCullough (secretvick at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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