Short Story: Friends to the End


‘For you.’ He held up a white rose. She remained still and quiet in her long white dress, hands clasped in front.

A soft breeze blew in through the open window and the wind chimes crooned a soft melody over the sea of black suits and ties. ‘I’ve come to say goodbye.’ He looked away for a moment, before returning his gaze.

Her spotless face, smoother than porcelain and softer than butter. Her eyes, hazel-brown. And her offset smile. God, how much he missed her when she left. He put his hand on her shoulder. The breeze blew a few stray hairs across her face.

He stared longingly at her face. ‘Please talk to me.’ He was pleading. She didn’t say anything.

He took her cold hands in his own. He squeezed them, hoping she’d give him a sign, acknowledge his presence for once since the past ten minutes he’d been standing in front of her.

It wasn’t always like this. There was a time when she missed him too. ‘You’re hurting me,’ she said. ‘Won’t you come back?’ He did, and stayed, and left again. ‘Our world is falling apart,’ they agreed. ‘Our “forever” is waning.’ They drifted apart, and at long last they went their ways, ending years of knowing, putting a lock on a past they didn’t want to remember for fear of reliving the pain. She never forgave him, he never forgave himself. If they thought of each other, they never let the other know.

Now here they were, separated by years of pain and unshared happiness, close to each other again. He kissed her hands and buried his face in them. ‘Please,’ he pleaded. A sob left his body, drowned in the murmur of the sea of black suits and ties and the wind chime that danced in the breeze. ‘Please, I’m sorry.’ She remained quiet, and still.

Someone must’ve noticed them. He felt a hand on his shoulder. He released her hands, and stood up, wiping his watery eyes with the back of his hand.

He closed her hands around the flower. ‘For you.’ If she felt the thorns prick her hands, she did not show it. He began to walk away. He made his way to the door, avoiding gazes.

Reaching the door, he turned around for one last look. She remained still and quiet in her long white dress, hands clasped in front with a white rose and eyes closed forever. ‘Rest in peace.’

[Writing again for the first time in years. It could be better in some way, but right now this seems to be the best I can do. Or perhaps story-writing isn’t my forte. Please leave a comment if you have any suggestions/feedback/critique; would appreciate it! :)]


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