We go in different directions down the imperturbable street.
A pair of mourning doves wheels away, startled when the keychain lands near them.
“Don’t be a child. You have custody of Merlot,” Gillian says.
Harold had never hated himself as much as he did right now. Why had he ignored the red flags fluttering the day they’d met all those years ago?
Earlier that morning, Judge Mordor had awarded Gillian the house, property, stables, and the Mercedes. Harold kept custody of Merlot, Preakness winner and stud at the top of genetic wanted charts.
Gillian studies her French manicured nails and says, “It’s nothing personal, Harold. I just don’t love you anymore.”
Had she ever really loved him?
The knife slips silently between her ribs. She dies in his arms.
Throat tight, eyes closed, Harold’s baritone croons his favorite Gwendolyn Brooks’ poem,
“We go in different directions down the imperturbable street.”
Merril D. Smith is today’s host for dVerse. Merril says:
write a piece of flash fiction with a beginning, middle, and end [using the quote by Gwendolyn Brooks.] Or you can write nonfiction, perhaps a memoir type thing, if you choose. But it must be prose, and it must be succinct—no more than 144 words.