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)
copyright ©2012 - Todos os direitos reservados a Meire Marion.

The Mango

It had been sitting on the kitchen counter for over a week and if no one ate it soon, it would go bad. She had never liked mangoes that much when she was a little girl, in fact she didn’t like them at all. But somehow, in her 40s she acquired a liking to them. Perhaps, you needed to have an acquired taste for mangoes just like sushi. It’s not something that you fall in love with at first bite.

She walked in the kitchen, looked at the mango and then checked the cupboards. She looked and looked but nothing wet her taste buds. She picked up the mango and it was ripe enough to be eaten. She took a knife and peeled the juicy fruit. The smell took her back to good moments in her childhood when her sisters would devour this fruit and she could not understand what they saw in it.

As she bit into the fruit, the juice ran down her chin. She felt like a little two-year-old eating with so much pleasure, just needed a bib not to get her clothes dirty. It really didn’t matter at this moment, what mattered was that that ripe juicy mango was very satisfying and delicious.

With a smile on her face she cleaned up the mess she had made on the kitchen counter.

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(Written: November 3, 2012)

copyright ©2012 - Todos os direitos reservados a Meire Marion.