This was the end. The ground would swallow up her bones as the bugs gnawed on her stiff cold flesh. As her mouth remembered the sugary taste of his lips and her skin shuddered when it remembered his warmth, she gazed at the bloody knife then into his bulging green eyes. This was wrong. His calloused hands had grown life not taken it. The moon’s light was gone. The stars had left the sky. The plants were thriving. This was not her home. He was not her husband.
TBC- Maybe…
I started writting this at 6pm EST. Sometimes my brain just strings words together. When I read it back, I always ask did I write that? I did but I’m always shocked.
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SONYA A WATSON 