zazzaroni
She walked forward, not glancing left nor right at the throng of people surrounding the stage. As her ascended the stairs, one of her heels caught and stopped the flow of her movement. She kicked off the heel roughly, then the other, and pushed past the line of people ahead of her. At the microphone, she took a breath, and began.
So close. She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed, really prayed. But then he was lying on his back, panting, and she left sprawled across the floor, with only her thoughts and the heavy beating of her heart. She held her breath for a moment, hoping that it wasn't over, then slowly let it out, whistling softly, when she realized it was. He turned his head and grinned at her, and she almost smiled back.
This was the final time she would say it to him: I didn't want your child. Yet here he was, again, cradling the baby in his tanned arms, the wispy white hairs on his head falling across the thick glasses propped on his nose. "Please," he whispered, "Please, I don't have much time." But I couldn't open the door; still, I kept my hand pressed against the glass against his.
The chain link fence looked cheap from a distance, but up close resembled all other fences. "I'll take it," Ed mumbled, rattling it with a scarred, tanned hand and spitting tobacco close to where it touched the ground. The realtor grimaced but reached out to shake my husbands hand.
The bench was wooden and warm, but his hand was cold against mine. The rain had stopped but i wasn't sure it was over. i wasn't certain about anything anymore. the birds had begun to chirp and i watched as one poked at the fresh soil, searching for the worms which had been drawn out from the storm. "Emily," he said, but i didn't turn to face him and he lost his nerve.
writing since 2011 · 5 entries · 5 days shown up
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handagainstclosestoppedtannedheadpleaseprayedbreathbenchwoodenwarmcoldrainsurecertain