It was fairly certain that young Muriel and Alan would be married before the end of December. They had been going out for over a year and, to quote a few of their friends, they were “just as much in love as ever”.

Neither of them would have put it exactly that way. They had moved through those familiar stages - from delighted delirium to relaxed enjoyment, true, but of their growing mutual affection, there could be no doubt at all.

For his part, Alan was sure he didn’t deserve her. He was quite taken off guard when she responded warmly to his initial rather bumbling words. In fact he thought she might have been making fun of him; but apparently not. It had been a great relief to her not to be plied with ‘the usual sales approach’; and she had welcomed what looked like the chance of a ‘normal conversation’ with one of the opposite sex.

One day when they were in the local library, he noticed something that he immediately put out of his mind: but later, when they were strolling, it came back to him - catching him in mid-stride. As Muriel paused to window-shop, he recalled that he had actually been ‘gawping’ at a pretty library assistant only a few moments ago. He also remembered, to his shock that at the time, he had not been in the least aware of Muriel’s presence.

How could that be? Muriel preoccupied him day and night. He was forever conjuring up cameos of her face and form, her cheeky chuckle, her lovely frocks. How could he, with her standing right next to him, have virtually excised her from his existence?!

The only answer he found when struggling to justify - (yes, that was the word) - his behaviour, was that perhaps the girl reminded him of someone from way back, when he was simply too young to know which way was up!

What was most unsettling about the incident, was that their union had seemed to contain all the ingredients of happiness in the universe. Nothing beyond it could be of any significance. No comparison was possible. Yet there he was, wondering, wishing, fixating on AN OTHER. His unassailable confidence in their marvellously self-contained universe, cracked.

For him, it was a betrayal, and made a mockery of all the sentiments that bonded them.

Muriel was unable to learn why she was never to see him again.
___________________________________

[All such snippets are adapted from Tales told by an Idiot......sometimes known as Itchy Memories]

Hi Keith .. you have a wonderful writing style .. I hope you allow us to see more of your work . Well done :/)

I don't fancy myself as a 'writer', but I do have tales to tell; so I keep a very tight rein on what I put down, to assure that it at least comes out as fairly literate.

However, if I compare myself to a Somerset Maugham, I hide behind the curtains!

Your response is very warming "Blondey111".

keith

That's really nice Keith. Really chew-able with a lingering aftertaste...

I can relate to Alan (which is probably why I'm here sifting through snippets for signs of something to fill a void) but it's a pity he just left. The line at which betrayal is called seems to vary - maybe hers differed from his?

""...with a lingering aftertaste..."
Thanks Stanley.

Having an afterthought about one's creative attempts, when the whole thing is over and done with, is as daft as is the 'Hollywood personality' who summed up a film he'd seen, by saying: "Excellent movie; but you should really change the actress who played the heroine.....[name] isn't much good!)

""...The line at which betrayal is called...""
So, in [futile!] retrospect, maybe I should/could/would have said, HIS betrayal.....

""...signs of something to fill a void...""
Among the other things I've called myself - (most of which wouldn't get past Mingle2's monitors) - is HOMO PENDULI.
I.e., he who breaks out of the egg, gorges himself on Liberty, [but alas, that's the name of the whore who lives much too close by], and before the sun has barely regurgitated itself, whaderyerknow, the chap is madly trying to find a new frame to lock himself back into.

Ding-dong - eh?!

k