It’s Friday and time for fiction of 100 words, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
She rested her back against her old friend, feeling its coarse rough bark through her thin blouse. She was home.
Already she was missing him – his arms, his voice – his very essence.
I love you!
He looked at her.
How can you love someone in two weeks? It’s the uniform.
She cast her eyes downward, tears coursing down her cheeks. There was nothing to say. She sipped her champagne and swallowed.
The moon shone down. Perspiration beaded on his forehead. He mopped it with his white handkerchief, leaned over and kissed her.
You’ll be alright. Let’s just enjoy the night.