Thursday, July 2, 2015


Cecily seized the Cosmopolitan not unlike a drowning soul clutching for a life preserver. The pressure of her slender fingers bid fair to snap the delicate stem of her glass at any moment. When she spoke, her voice was little more than a whisper.

“Ten years, Brandon…it’s been ten years. We decided not to advance our relationship while still in college because we both had too much at stake. Then came grad school and more waiting. But dammit, we’ve been junior partners three years now. This is no game, anymore. This is my life!”

“I still have hopes. I have dreams and aspirations and intentions. I also have doubts and worries and despair. For God’s sake, I have a uterus…with a timer. And time is running out. All I’m saying is I can’t bring myself any longer to believe you’ll ever be ready…be committed….to us. All I want is for you to look me in the eyes and tell me…tell me I’m wrong. But you can’t do that, dearest, can you? Can you?” Her voice trailed off somewhere between a sigh and a sob.

For what seemed an eternity, he sat silent and unmoving…his expression as inscrutable as the Sphinx himself. When, at length, he spoke there was no hint of uncertainty in his words. “No. I don’t suppose I can.”

And in that moment, the dreams and aspirations, the hopes and desires of one very confused and distraught woman died a death from which no resurrection could ever occur.

This story was written for the weekly Thursday Threads flash fiction phrase prompt.

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