from S. Writings;
I still wonder how you can convince me to travel with a wanderer like you; are you not exhausted yet? Perhaps not. “The Golden Gate Bridge will be my last stop… for now,” a snicker from your lips; what a weak voice you have now.
“I’ll buy us tickets, then.”
“No. Paint the bridge on our car’s door. Make it bright—the design, please,” before your eyelids shut. I kiss your forehead—apologies for the single tear slip.
Two weeks later.
I have painted the bridge. I have packed our bags. I have booked a hotel reservation. I have bought a city tour package.
On the passenger’s seat, I place your jar of ashes. I lock the seat belt on your ceramic skin. “Hold on tight, dear. We’re going to San Francisco.”
Check out this week’s prompt at:
Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers
WORD COUNT: 132
Thank you for…
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