hi guys, just wanted to get your opinions on this short story I wrote. All constructive criticism is welcome.
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Ellorose woke at noon, as she does every Sunday. She lay in her bed with her eyes closed, letting the sunlight wash over her face. She heard the cat breathing as it lay sleeping next to her on its velvet pillow. She felt the vibrations as it purred, and felt its breath on her face. She turned, eyes remaining closed, to face the window, ruffling her light silk sheet as she moved. She opened her eyes and let the morning sunlight flood in. From the window she could see the large purple hebe in the garden, with its cloudy, lilac flowers swaying in the soft June breeze. She could see the perfect, uninterrupted blue sky and the fiery golden ball suspended high above the oak trees. She turned again to face her ceiling and deliberated, as she does every Sunday, whether to rise or remain in bed all day, and like every Sunday, she decided to rise. She took a moment to study her ceiling, with its maroon boards and that funny green stain directly above her bed, and like every Sunday, she thought of how it came to be there; her mother had tried to bring some colour into Ellorose’s dark room, she started to paint the ceiling a startling bright green, only to discover that her room was nicer the way it was, it was warm. Flighty as Ellorose’s mother was, she became distracted by another now half-finished project, and never bothered to paint over the green, and now, ten years later, it remains there, fading and dirty, as a reminder to Ellorose that her mother is always with her. Ellorose now finally has the strength to get out of bed. She moves her sheets to her right, disturbing the sleeping cat, that now rises from slumber, and in one clear bound, jumps from the velvet cushion to the floor. Ellorose stretches, feeling her muscles tighten and then relaxes again and sits up, letting her long chestnut hair fall to her waist. She slides her feet off the bed and lets them touch the cold, hard mahogany floor. She sits quite still for a moment wriggling her toes and stroking her soft, delicate sheets with the tips of her fingers. She sighs and lifts herself from the side of the bed. Her long satin nightdress falls into place around her knees. She walks slowly and softly, as if trying not to wake someone. She does this out of habit, for, during her mother’s last days, they shared this room, as they were both afraid her mother would die alone in the middle of the night, of course they never admitted this to each other, they both said that it just made things more convenient. Six months after her mother’s death, Ellorose still fears waking her. Ellorose sits at her dressing table, she smiles as the cat jumps on to her lap and rubs its cheek against her cheek. She picks up her ancient hairbrush by its mother of pearl handle and begins to slowly and thoughtfully brush her long chestnut hair. She brushes every length of hair, starting at the top of her head and ending at her waist until every tangle is brushed out. She then gazes wistfully at her refection in the mirror to study her features; her ivory skin, her high protruding cheekbones, her long round chin just below her pale, full lips that eternally carry a smile, her perfectly straight nose and her warm caramel eyes, which bear a striking resemblance to those of her mother, all this balanced upon a long slender neck. She picks up the cat, that now sleeps on her satin lap and places it on the floor. She then stands up and rearranges her bed sheets until not a crease is left on the orange sheets. She moves towards the large French-doors that lead out onto the porch, she draws back the white gauze drapes before opening both doors at once. As she opens the doors, the hot summer’s breeze hits her and causes her nightdress to fly around her in soft white billows. She walks out onto the white pine floor of the porch, the cat brushing against her legs as it follows her. She walks slowly down the steps into the garden, brushing her hands along the railing, and walks from the shade of the house, into the dazzling light if the garden. She smiles as she walks through the grass that tickles her toes, towards the wooden swing-seat nestles among the rhododendrons and pink escalonias. She sits on the old creaky swing and looks back at her house, the porch that wraps itself around the house and is decorated with mismatch armchairs and wicker loveseats, where she would sit out with her mother when the weather was warm enough, and the hanging baskets of pansies of geraniums and pansies her mother had planted when she was still fit and the chaise longue where she spent her days when she wasn’t. Everything in the house and garden reminded Ellorose of her mother, it made her feel like her mother was still with her, that she was still watching, and that was enough for Ellorose, she was happy. Life was good. Life was wonderful.