“Fifty yards,” he utters. The street is narrow and smooth, like a watery ribbon. “We are almost there.”
She stares ahead, and then to the right, the signpost not yet visible. Then she listens to the sound of crickets and blackbirds imposed upon the backdrop of the silently departed thunderstorm. She thinks of a warm bed, and of a hot bath. He reflects inward for a closure to a long tumultuous journey tied with her with outer-world’s inclemency.
The pebble had rolled in quietly. The fall then lasted for a minute. Silently, they held their hands together to the end.
© Copyright 2018 Fariel Shafee. All rights reserved.
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Fariel Shafee has degrees in science, but enjoys writing and art. She has published prose and poetry in decomP, Ygdrasil, The Foundling Review, etc.