Hand in Hand until the End

They always walked around hand in hand. It was a tight hold depending on who was more insecure of what life was bringing forth. Their fingers would intertwine so well that even the sweat from all the heat did not leak. She liked coffee, he didn’t. He was rough and tough, she wasn’t. They were different, but there was one thing that made them seem so alike; their love for each other.

That Tuesday, they had met at the nearest coffee shop before heading on home for the night. She still had a course to attend and he didn’t want to go home to an empty house, not totally empty for there were the pets. The dog was his and the cat was hers. Meeting at the coffee shop was something they had added to their routine. It’s where they had first run into each other and fallen in love, for this reason, they agreed to make it a date every Tuesday afternoon for happy hour. She always ordered an espresso, him a hot chocolate.

 They walked into the coffee shop hand in hand and stayed that way talking about what had happened during the day. For some unexplainable reason, both of them held tight grips. What’s wrong? he asked. I’m not sure, she answered, and I have a funny feeling something odd is going to happen. Me too, he added.

All of a sudden she was hit. From nowhere a shot was heard, there was a scream, she fell over the table, looked at him and whispered, I love you and slowly closed her eyes. She was gone. They were still holding hands, but her grip was loose. There was blood. She had been shot.

He couldn’t believe nor understand what was going on. He must have been dreaming. He wanted to wake up from this nightmare. He didn’t want to let go of her hand, but at the same time he wanted to hold her in his arms and wake her up.  As hard as he tried, he couldn’t wake her up nor could her wake up from this nightmare. He would have to go home to the emptiness and loneliness.

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(Written November 4, 2012)
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