Friday Fictioneers (#FF) This week’s 100-word story is inspired by this photograph provided by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. A sappy little love story this week.
We took the ferry across Sydney Harbour. The moon shone brightly upon us as we held hands and kissed on the nearly empty deck. We didn’t care who watched. We admired the approaching city lights and talked about old times.
As far as we were concerned, we were the only two people in the world.
We had never been so in love as at that moment.
The fireworks display on the bridge was just for us.
“The first and best apple pie I ever ate was in this diner.”
“Really? I thought Grandma’s was your favorite.”
I scowled in confusion.
“My dear, Lily got her first job here when she was only sixteen. I came every day. She made the apple pies herself from her mother’s recipe.”
“You married her for her pie,” I laughed.
I pretended not to see his eyes mist up.
Grandpa had us, but I knew he was lonely these days. He still comes to the diner every day.
Memories, I suppose.
But now he orders only coconut cream pie.
“Look at you.” Sara stamped her feet and closed the door behind her, shutting out the icy winter wind. “You look cozy. Nice fire, and what a gorgeous view.”
“Thanks. I love watching the horses. Oh look, there’s deer too. Have some tea and a slice of cake. Here’s a blanket. Curl up here in the other chair beside me.”
“Wow. You’re going all out here. Love all the candles, and those socks. You’re Grandma made those for you, didn’t she?”
“Yes, a few years ago.”
“You’ve certainly created an atmosphere, haven’t you? I love it.”
“Yep. I’m celebrating hygge*.”
This week, I’m offering the final installment to my previous stories of the time-traveling Victoria (Part 1: Faint memories, Part 2: Pourquoi moi? and Part 3: Third time charm). I hope you enjoy it. For those of you who might have been waiting for the final chapter, I apologize (again) for the delay. It has been very a busy summer.
The tall man grasped her tighter still.
“Yes,” she whispered again more softly.
The waltz ended. With no word, he disappeared into the garden.
Her heart pounded. He is gone? No, a voice screamed in her head.
At the east gate, a note was tucked under the rusting hinges. The red wax seal. His. Her name. Victoria. Carefully scripted in black ink on the outside.
She trembled as she read his words.
The hinges screeched as she slowly stepped through the gate, to the past, now her present and her future.
Welcome to the 13th edition of Pen’n’Tonic’s Creative Expressions challenge.
Join the challenge. Everyone is welcome!
Each week on Tuesday (as time permits), I’ll post a word, a phrase, a picture, or an idea that will constitute a prompt from which to submit a poem, a flash fiction piece (preferably not longer than 250 words), an original photograph, an original artwork, or a combination of these things that you think applies to the week’s theme.
Interpret the theme as you see fit. The only rules are that you be creative, be original, and have fun. Post your entry on your own blog and add your link to the InLinkz page (see little blue frog image below). Read more