The oily river floats like molten lead, trying in vain to swallow my lugubrious memories.
The last day at the hospice you said;
– Remember, I will always walk beside you
But after you left I have only seen the sooty mist of nothingness.
– I’m so alone, I say with tears dry as sand burning behind my eyelids.
That’s when, through the thick clouds I see the sweetness of your face. I smile as I fill my pockets with rocks, and I feel lighter now than ever.
And as the icy water fills my mouth I hear our song is playing.
First of all, my apologies for all stories I couldn’t read last week. I spent most of my weekend celebrating the 85th birthday of my mother. I hope to compensate by reading more this week.
Friday Fictioneers is a wonderful way to share stories on the same picture. It’s masterfully managed by Rochelle, and the amount of work she does is amazing.
January 15, 2014