Fiction (from a prompt)

 

She is cold.  

There is a barely there light filtering through the window. 

The cold and the sliver of light are enough to awaken Nina's body.  

Her mind is slow to follow; too busy manifesting a way to get warm and perhaps 

lure her body back to sleep is all the mind can handle.     

Somewhere between asleep and the opposite; Nina heard a noise.  And then, the familiar aroma of a most decadent pleasure wafted throughout the space. The excitement, the growing expectation, the taste was nearly dancing her tongue.  

Nina's mind and body are now fully engaged for soon she knew the door would creak open and Adrienne would sidle close to the bed, gently set down the tray with the steaming cups . . . 

After everything that happened last night, Nina had to have that cup of coffee this morning. 

She is warm now.  

**meant to publish on the 29th the birthday of my blog in honor of my pal, Nina.  Happy belated birthday to Middle Girls and to Nina.   

   

     

  

That Day in September

Do you remember? That day, that crisp, bright day last September? You were wearing that Carolina blue sweatshirt as if you were daring the sky to out blue that shirt. I recall asking why you were wearing such a heavy shirt, it wasn't that cold. Your reply was something like, loving it so and feeling so grand in it. 

Do you remember that crisp, bright day last September? You were in the park feeding the ducks, or geese, or whatever the hell those birds were. As you are now aware, I am no fan of birds, but on that day, I faced my fear to be closer to you for you were intent on feeding those birds. Enticed by the pellets in your hand, entranced by the swell of your heart; we laugh about it now, my desire to be one of those birds that day. 

Do you remember what we talked about that crisp, bright day last September while you were enticing birds to eat pellets from your hand? Do you remember the ease of the conversational flow? How we seemed to predict what the other would say? Do you remember saying in the midst of all the words, those three words? 

Do you remember me saying them back? 

Do you remember running out of pellets, the birds skittering off to find another benefactor, the day growing cooler, the companionable silence sitting between us on that bench? Do you remember offering me that Carolina blue sweatshirt to wear for the short walk to my apartment, entranced by the sight of me pulling it over my head?

Do you remember talking about that crisp, bright day last September many weeks later, remembering it fondly as the day when . . . 

                                                   

MORE MORE MORE!