Stop the block: writing contest

Challenge #7 (part 1)

In your azure eyes

Based on the play Coriolanus by William Shakespeare

Word count: 2, 604

The golden and crimson flames danced in an ornate wooden fireplace, as a small blonde haired child, of around three years of age, hacked away at thin air with a plastic sword. His small bare feet moved in quick steps, back and forth, with each swing of the blade: the sound of tapping little feet making an almost lulling rhythm with each swoosh of the toy weapon. Tap, tap, swoosh. Tap, tap, swoosh. Tap, tap, swoosh.

At the back of the room, behind the boy was a woman. She looked to be in her mid-twenties, sitting in an indigo, leather, recliner. The light from the television, in the corner of the room, lit up one side of her face, with the silent horror filled images of war: that were playing on the evening news, as a single tear rolled down her delicate cheek. Her long raven hair was swiped over one shoulder, only a few loose strands remained stubbornly on the other side of her pale, round face. Her gaze was downcast, not watching the news that was currently muted, or the child, as she stitched up the patch-work quilt in her lap. The needle reflected the light periodically as she worked. The blanket was a mishmash of colours and fabrics, all sewn together with different coloured threads, to create the most exquisite collage of tapestries.

After a few more precious moments of quiet, the front door of the house was thrown open with a loud bang, and it was gone. Both the child and the woman froze in their movement, before the boy ran out of the room, to see who the visitor was, with his sword still in hand, as the woman hurriedly wiped away at her tear stained cheeks.

The boy let out a squeal of excitement, followed by a clatter of plastic on wood, before darted back into the living room, now weapon-less, and up to the woman, who was peering hopefully at the living room door.

"Mummy, mummy!" The golden haired child chirped happily, as he climbed up into the woman's lap.

His mother smiled down at him as she moved the quilt from her lap and helped to hoist her son onto her lap.

"My, my," the raven haired woman tutted at the boy with a teasing smile, any evidence of her previous tears was gone, "what's all this racket about?"

"It's only me, dear." An elder woman's voice called out, over a rustling of coats and the thud of a bag hitting off the floor.

The toddler's mother couldn't help the slight look of disappointment on her face as a woman, in her late forties, came into view. Her pepper grey hair was tied up in a long pony-tail, her face was oval shaped and sharp-featured, but there was a kindness in her light sky-blue eyes. Her long grey dress hung like drapes around her broad frame.

"I hope I am not disturbing you." Her voice was loud, but not harsh, like a symphony for music.

"No," The younger woman said, voice breaking softly, "I was just working on the quilt." She added, gesturing towards the patchwork quilt.

The child, who had now grown bored of the conversation between his mother and grandmother, squirmed out of his mothers lap and ran off to retrieve his plastic sword. His grandmother watched him fondly as he ran from the room, speeding around her stocky frame.

Silence descended upon them, as the older woman took a seat beside the younger, and made a motion toward the quilt,

"Come, my dear Olivia, I shall help." She said, patting the young woman's hand gently.

Olivia smiled a broken smile at her, though she carefully avoided making eye contact, as she handed over the quilt, so it was covering both of their laps. Olivia couldn't look into those eyes, so much like Caius's in their azure colour.