They'd met on the train the summer after his Junior and her Freshman year, taking the obligatory wanderjahr through Europe. He'd made a joke to the conductor, who took his ticket and frowned disapprovingly; but she'd smiled mischievously, changed seats to be next to him, started a conversation.
Now, her face was frozen into a map of pain; whether it was pain she had felt at the moment of her death, or pain she was feeling currently, somehow, he had no way to know. He backed through the kitchen and into the living room. She followed him, vacant-eyed and moaning.
Loved this one. It made me think that you should put a book together of just these "drabbles", have someone illustrate each one.
ReplyDeleteWell, I do have three books that are mostly drabbles. I asked an artist friend of mine to illustrate a few but I didn't want to hold the book to wait for a busy person to get around to them. Over at NameYourTale.com (now defunct) we did have the occasional art accompanying our drabbles. I always liked the idea. The problem is, of course, that I'm used to finishing a piece and then *boom*, it's live on the net. Waiting for someone else to do art is hard. :-)
DeleteYour descriptions are so vivid, and to be able to convey so much in so few words, is real skill.
ReplyDeleteThank you so much :-)
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