The Storm

The wood floors creaking under shifting weight. Rain knocking on the weathered deck. He stood and looked on with a statuesque poise. Jaw set, granite cheeks, dark eyes. Regret, shame, apologies running down my face. Realization, a thick fog pressing in on me. The taupe walls passing judgement with every word. One choice, one moment, last chance.

Imagine

My dress reached the floor, blue and lace. Kerosene lights flickered through the rooms. The tinkling sound of china filled my ears as I lightly stepped into the hall.

I jumped back into the darkened stoop as disheveled, bloodthirsty men shouted their way to the edge of town. War ravaged through dimly lit streets where I once ran barefoot and hungry.

He gently pulled me close and whispered, "Isn't this perfect?" I watched the oranges and purples of the sky dissolve into the waves. The smell of spice mixed with salt water.

Wind laced with ice stinging my skin as my hair flew in every direction possible. Terror, adrenaline, thrill. The ground below me, skies reaching down.

On my tiptoes, straining. Weary but joyful men, streaming off of the sputtering train. In greens and blacks, hugging the waiting crowds. I let out the breath I've been hanging on to for minutes, hours. Hoping to see those deep brown eyes.

The warm night air wrapped around me like a blanket. Black branches of the apple tree above backlighted by a pearly round moon. An 85 pound pile of fur curled next to me, snore-barking in his sleep.

I stood next to her bed and felt empty. Her skin pale, last breath lingering against thin purple lips. Hands that used to hold mine gently, now still. So fragile, so final.

The spring sun and a gentle breeze touched our shoulders as I looked into his smiling eyes. We were hand in hand, whispering words that meant forever.

Inside an imagination lives a thousand lives.

Never The Same

His name. There. In black and white. Dots form on my skin as a chilling tingle runs to my toes. Deep breath. The monitor blinks, scrolls, details. His joyful innocence of the past, flashes of a smile now forgotten. The scars hidden in the dark of his eyes. One choice. A life changed forever.

The Melody

The golden afternoon sun streams gently in, sitting gracefully on his shoulders-hunched in concentration. His head bent, vision filled with black and white. Slender fingers glide smoothly over the keys. He plays a melody he should be too young to understand. The sound fills the space, wraps around the battered legs of the bench that holds him. It lingers in front of faded photographs, floats by deserted toys. It is a beautiful kind of lonely. Dangerous and soft. The air is still. There is only him.

Last Chance

Blue veins through the paper-thin, transparent skin of the wrinkled hand I am holding. Angry looking purple-black bruises cover his arm, mixing in with the deep brown age spots. His labored breathing is all that I know. It fills my senses. In. Out. In. Out. The low hum of the equipment surrounding him droning on in the distance.  He had been asking about the future, was it just two days ago? Now he can’t speak, move, breathe on his own. His eyes are vacant, like he is gone already. They stare at the tiled ceiling, glassy and bloodshot. Being here, with him, watching, waiting—is a jackhammer pounding on my chest. Like vinegar poured into my churning stomach. My nose tingles, vision blurs. I need to get out. I can’t…if I leave...but this isn’t alive. He isn’t even in the body lying next to me. The heavy breathing, the cold hands. He’s already gone. There’s already a vacant space in the center of my heart where he belongs. The quiet mornings with waffles and warmth, never to be again. Forget-Me-Nots strewn around the kitchen. A knock. Someone new to keep watch. Relief. Panic. My last chance. A kiss on his slackened, weathered cheek. “I love you.” He squeezes my hand.