Lately, most of my poems/writings have been posted on lettrs and then transferred here for your enjoyment. 🙂 The following is a Finish the story challenge that the lettrs staff issued a couple days ago.
FINISH THE STORY.
“As she walked through the centre of New York she noticed a man playing his guitar. She walked past him. But when he looked up, their eyes met and she stopped walking. She couldn’t move…”
She was transfixed, there was something familiar about his eyes, but she could not place it.
He smiled, his eyes telling her me meant it, that it wasn’t the random, “How do you do, please throw money into my case.” type of smile that she usually got from the street musicians, but a genuine smile.
She’s not sure how much time passed, as they stared at each other, connected by an etheric thread of recognition, from a life long gone. A life full of love, and happiness. Images of the two of them laughing under the stars filled her mind, the sweet taste of strawberries on her lips, and cigarette smoke lingering in the air between them.
She had been happy then, full of hope and promise.
Then she felt a dull ache in her heart, and her smile startes to fade.
She had lost him once, all those years ago.
She lowers her eyes, notices a ragged birthmark on his neck, just above his collar bone, and feels tears start to well up.
He also lowers his eyes, as if he was remembering something and she hears him whisper, “I tried to come back to you.”
“I know” she whispers back.
They look at each other again, eyes locked in mutual remembrance, of a love they shared, lifetimes before, during a time when the world was at war and the only peace they found was with each other.
“Daddy!” squeales the voice of a little girl, breaking their connection.
She smiles as she observes the musician embrace his daughter, and slips away into the crowd.
“Rat-tat-tat” screamed the guns, as bullets whizz past his head. The smoke was thick, and his line of sight minimal. He could feel his heart slamming in his chest, as he gulps down his fear. Then his ears ring from an explosion, and pain rips through him as shrapnel impales him, right between his collarbone and neck. He can hear the medic talking to him, and can feel himself being dragged out of the firefight; than his mind wanders back to her, and how the light shimmered off her brown hair, the last night they were together. The taste of strawberries on her lips, and her eyes kept him transfixed as the medic called “Time of death.”