The coffee shop on Fulton barely paid minimum wage, but there was new money in the neighbourhood, and the tips were good. Most mornings, on my early break, I’d see them part with a kiss on the top step of the brownstone at 708. There didn’t seem a lot of love, but at that age I certainly wasn’t an expert on the matter.
One damp, fall morning I watched as he left in a hurry without his kiss. From an upstairs window a woman’s eyes briefly met my own. Heavy, red drapes were then pulled tight once more. I never saw her again after that – nobody did.
These words form my entry into Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge. As this is my final story for 2015 I will take this opportunity to wish all my friends on FF a Happy New Year. See you all again in 2016.
Ruffles stirred in his wicker basket as the door was slowly pushed ajar. The old, chocolate Labrador yawned, and then watched through tired eyes as Emmy tip-toed across the cold, stone floor.
At the window she paused. This had always been her favourite time of the day: the dawn mists rising over the barn; a slither of red sky beyond the southern cornfields. For just a moment she hesitated, before propping up the white envelope against a bowl of apples on the kitchen table.
Picking up the small suitcase, she turned to Ruffles and smiled. Perhaps a heavy heart, but no tears, as Emmy slipped quietly out the back door.
As kids we often climbed to the top of Kinney Hill. From there we could see the whole world. Africa, Australia, America, even China, on a really clear day, shimmered mystically on the summer horizon. We had plans to visit them all – to see the world. Sadly, those times of innocence and wonder have long faded to memory. Most of my friends from those days settled down to an ordinary life. An expected, safe existence in the town within which they were born and raised. Me? I decided to see if I could actually seek out these places: those distant lands only those brave and hardy enough to climb the scree scarred slopes of Kinney Hill could usually hope to see.
Twenty years I served in all. Twenty years in lands far from home. In lands far from my wife and children. When I returned for good they were gone and I was once again alone. I still meet up with my friends from childhood. We swap tales, remember the days on Kinney Hill. I tell them of my travels. They all listen with respect and admiration. They then go home to their families; I return to silence, my empty flat and my own thoughts. Thoughts for a better end to my life than this. Thoughts of a better reward for my sacrifice. Thoughts.
Wasn’t feeling inspired today but then this story just came in a flash. Only took five minutes to write i.e. it’s very raw and not overly edited, but it’s what came to mind. Hope you find something to like about it.