Romantic Friday Writers - Lost

Greetings Everyone!

Welcome to our 2nd Romantic Friday Writers, a new meme devised by L'Aussie and Francine Howarth. Each week we submit some work (excerpt, flash fiction, poetry etc) around a chosen theme, coming in under 400 words.

This week's theme is Lost and I have to say the Muse stayed resolutely silent until the 11th hour. I struggled with this one but eventually this flash piece materialised.....at 376 words.

Lost

A sigh rippled through Alan's body as the ventilator was switched off, releasing him from his broken physical self. He watched as the tubing and machinery were disconnected and wheeled away. He looked at his partly shaved head, his swollen face, bruised hands and thought he looked quite the rugged hero, actually. A doctor was talking to Tash.

“ He's in no pain, Mrs Marshall. His body will shut down over the next few hours and...”

“I'll lose him.” She finished.

And when did I lose you, Tash?

Alan looked at his pretty wife. Waves of love flowed from him and settled around her heart. He wondered if she could feel him there. She was holding one of his hands, stroking it with her thumb.

Under the thumb, eh? Alan laughed and felt himself expand to the edges the room. His senses filled with glorious sensations. His whole being smelled grass and beer, every pore heard classic rock music, every hair squealing devotion from his boyhood puppies. He was standing on a road. Still.

No tunnel? He had no need to turn to be able to see all around. Tall trees, their tops lost in mist, led away like an avenue of sentinels. Had it rained? Water dripped from leaf to leaf, slow tears. The mist engulfed him.

When did dissatifaction set in, Tash? Was it after meeting skinny, rich Jayne in Pilates?

Alan couldn't pin a time to the changes. Tash ate less, exercised more, lost her soft curves. Her strawberry waves became a shimmering sheet of pale honey. The tapestry bag he had bought her in Thailand was replaced by something called Prada. Then she started on him. His hair wasn't right, she bought him gel. She moaned about his jeans, his motorbike.

Doctors had cut away his jeans and his bike was crushed.

I was selling it, Tash. There's a holiday in St Barts bookmarked on my computer. Wasn't that where you wanted to go? To be seen?

I wanted a baby, you wanted botox.

He imagined the conversation with her brittle friend. “How awful for you, a widow at twenty-nine but look how thin you are!”

Let go love.

The mist lifted. Alan absorbed divine warmth and walked home.


Do click on the piccie to read everyone else's inspiring romantic work.

Have a great Friday x