By Perry McDaid
The sun rose, beaming down on the lapping tide like her smile used to shine upon her lower lip; and the breaking waters of dawn were as soothing as her first words to me: beach-pebbles even mimicking the catch in her voice as they were drawn across the sand by the ebb.
I tried to whisper something poetic to the pink and lilac clouds. The outward facing heart in my modern-design Claddagh ring gleamed as a shy sunray touched it the way she used to…
Misses instead of Missus. I might have appreciated the pun, had I not been bleeding out.
Beautifully written flash piece.
Perry, this is beautiful. The words flow like poetry with images real enough to reach out and touch. Good stuff.