This is an experiment with flash fiction. Leave me a comment!
The sky was a beautiful shade of pink, with the sun barely above the horizon as I went out on the deck. I settled into my chair, with a glass of sangria and listened to the night creatures awaken. The sun sank deeper, with just an orange burst barely visible. It was time to light the tiki torches along the perimeter. In this neck of the woods, the mosquitoes are vicious, blood sucking vampires.
You joined me, in your chair a comfortable distance from mine. Crickets began to chirp. No words were spoken, and nature’s cacophony filled the uncomfortable silence. Outside of insects, all that was heard were tinkles of ice and breaths. In, out. In, out. In, out. A reassurance that yes, you were still alive.
As darkness settled over the yard and the distant lake, I instinctively reached for your hand, but it wasn’t there. After all these years, I was still afraid of the dark, and yearned for that reassuring touch. I glanced over as the moon began to rise. Clouds darkened it, and I gasped. There was a velvet texture to the evening, and a bat’s shadow passed overhead. I began to squirm more, and began to curl up in my Adirondack chair.
You, after all these years, instinctively reached over to calm my fears. I settled back, and let out a barely audible sigh. My heart rate slowed, and my breathing returned to normal. In, out. In, out. In, out. I relaxed, watched the moon dance with clouds, and sat with you, in silence.
Women of God can never be like women of the world. The world has enough women who are tough; we need women who are tender. There are enough women who are coarse; we need women who are kind. There are enough women who are rude; we need women who are refined. We have enough women of fame and fortune; we need more women of faith. We have enough greed; we need more goodness. We have enough vanity; we need more virtue. We have enough popularity; we need more purity. Margaret D. Nadauld
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