Write On Wednesday … He filled his glass

He filled his glass, emptied it, and fell silent, immersed in his own thoughts. Just wait here, she had said. Wait? Here? For what? It’d been more than five years since he had seen her. Six years? Maybe seven years? Long enough to have thought he’d never see her again. Long enough to have forgotten all about the promises he had made. Wishes they had long ago left behind unfulfilled, bubbled up in his mind.He couldn’t ask her anything. She was speeding away in a cab.  Just wait, she had said, I have to go, but I’ll come back. He was surprised to see her but recognised her instantly. The shape of her. Her profile. Her wild hair. He was just waiting for the bus by the station. Suddenly, there she was.  Those thoughts and wishes were about to overflow. He sat with his empty glass, not daring to move in case she returned and lost sight of him.

He wanted to remember.


Write On Wednesdays


This week, it’s two fat ladies, lucky pair of eights. Chose a bookshelf. The eighth book. The eighth page. The eighth line. Then write for five minutes. The book, with some help from my friends, Crime and Punishment, Dostoyevsky.