She calls from nowhere, her voice Kalashnikov-insisting.
‘We have to meet… same place as usual’
She never give me time to refuse.
As I walk from my apartment I realize that it rains again. Streetlights reflected in wet cobblestones, reek of dog and stale tobacco brings back the day we met.
I believed that you were crying, but today I know that the sheen on your cheeks was only rain.
You are like the wet street, merely mirror.
You stand, looking vulnerable, outside the Irish Pub under an umbrella. Moon-pale blank you stare at me. Silent, slowly comprehending:
We were just lovers never friends. Your shoulders slump and the drizzle seeps into my sweater as we go in different directions
Down the imperturbable street, step by step something arises as my past is decomposing,
It stops raining. No necromancing can wake her ghost again.
We write prosery with Merril at dVerse today and the challenge is to write a piece of prose of no more than 144 words incorporate the line “We go in different directions down the imperturbable street.” from the poem “An Aspect of Love, Alive in the Ice and Fire.” by poet Gwendolyn Brooks.
June 8, 2020
Björn Rudbergs writings 
A tale of regret–perhaps of seeing clearly now what should have been clear then if not clouded by lust. “We were just lover not friends.” A common thing, but sad nonetheless.
I’m beginning to wish I’d chosen non-fiction, Björn. Yours is the third mesmerising piece. I particularly love ‘Kalashnikov-insisting’, and the wonderful descriptions: ‘Streetlights reflected in wet cobblestones, reek of dog, and stale tobacco bring back the day we met’; and ‘You stand, looking vulnerable, outside the Irish Pub under an umbrella’. I also love the way you split the prompt quote.
I like the description of the past as “decomposing”.
“I believed that you were crying, but today I know that the sheen on your cheeks was only rain.”
“You are like the wet street, merely mirror.”
He’s woken from a spell and is ready to move on. Let’s hope the determination both feel holds.
Very well-done prosery, Bjorn.
Beautiful. Love past decomposing amidst all of the rain imagery and smells.
So much imagery in this, Björn. A case of never having been on the same path together.
your past decomposing is quite a heavy image
“You are like the wet street, merely mirror”
What is real in their knowing? Your language is awesome
Happy Monday Björn
Much💖love
A brilliant write, Bjorn. You took us there!
Wonderful. I’m ready to learn more of this fascinating story.
Sometimes time gives clarity. (K)
From the title I was expecting one thing – gothic, horror – and this took me somewhere else, gentle, sweet, full of regret. Very nice.
There are so many great lines here I cannot pick my favorite. Sad yet lovely Bjorn.
“her voice Kalashnikov-insisting” is a fantastic metaphor, and the line “No necromancing can wake her ghost again” is so powerful. Thank you for this intriguing piece
“You are like the wet street, merely mirror.”
Just one stand-out line among many. Mysterious story.