Throwback Thursday: Stonecold by Leslie Wibberley

Each week, we are taking a look back at the authors, stories, and poems that captivated us in 2019. Today we offer you an excerpt from ‘Stonecold’ by Leslie Wibberley, from Issue 21, Winter 2019. 

Stonecold

My husband didn’t understand my obsession with stones. “Foolish,” he said. “Nothing but a ridiculous waste of time.” No surprise there. Tom considered everything about me to be a waste of time. How unfortunate for him. If he’d even once treated me like something other than a worthless piece of flotsam, it may have saved him.

I’d been collecting stones my entire life. Flat pebbles worn smooth from infinite years of pounding water, jagged chunks of shale that could slice the flesh with their razor sharpness, dusty geodes that hid glorious surprises beneath their rough exteriors. I loved them all. Each one whispered a different story in my ears. Some spoke of their journeys through the stars, others of how they danced with the dinosaurs, still others told of their fiery births in the depths of exploding volcanoes.

At my insistence, Tom had given me a polished moonstone set in a band of silver for my engagement ring. That was the last time he’d ever given in to my whims.

I remember the day, a week after our wedding, when Tom first unleashed his fury on me. That first time I’d been shocked, shattered — devastated by his rage. The second time, I’d been angry, but only for a moment. After the tenth, twentieth, thirtieth time, I was no longer surprised. After the hundredth, I wondered if I deserved what he gave me.

Then, one night, as I lay curled into a ball, my pale skin a patchwork of iridescent blues and purples, I dreamed of a special stone. A stone black as death, warm as life, that promised me freedom.

Dark yet luminous, this mystery stone called to me, pleaded with me to find it. For ten years I dreamed the same dream. For an entire decade I searched. Each day I grew less and less the person I had once been. Soon, I worried that person would no longer exist.

Truthfully, I had no idea what to expect if I found the stone. I just knew I needed to. But I’d been searching for so long I’d all but given up hope.

To find out what happens next, pick up your copy of Issue 21, Winter  2019 here!

Leslie Wibberley loves the written word almost as much as she loves her incredible family. Her short stories and narrative non-fiction pieces have been published in online and print literary journals, magazines, and anthologies, as well as Chicken Soup for the Soul. She’s placed numerous times in Writer’s Digest’s annual competitions, including a first place in the genre category, and has had several first place finishes in flash fiction contests. This story won the inaugural Creative Ink Festival Flash Fiction Contest. You can find her at lesliewibberley.com.