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Click hereThanks to jezzaz for the really cool idea of the 750 Word Project. It was a fun challenge! Thank you to blackrandl1958 for editing, and thank you to my other friends for looking it over. Hope you enjoy.
*****
I watched him from the bed. He packed his bag with admirable efficiency; I could never fold my clothes so well or so tidily. His eyes never strayed from his task and his expression showed no emotion. He was staying strong for me, and I also knew he was afraid.
Bright sun fell on the floor in neat stripes. His bronze hair glinted in its light and I wanted to run my hands through it, mess it up, tug on it, take out my frustration. His silence was provoking me, which was wildly unfair.
It had been exactly one hour since the soldiers banged on the door and gave him his papers. He was being drafted to fight in the war, a fear I'd felt ever since I watched the bombs falling on our TV. That was when we had TV.
"Your turn," their faces seemed to say, but all they really said was, "Be prepared. We will be back tomorrow morning."
We didn't speak once they left. He went directly to our bedroom and I followed, aching to hold him but knowing that was the last thing he wanted. I climbed back into bed and just stared, devastated. I had to be strong, as strong as he was, but I didn't know how. We both knew what the war meant. He would likely never return. It seemed our world was destined to fight each other until the end, no matter how pointless it all was, until every person was dust and no winner was left. There was no hope.
Eventually, he finished and turned to look at me. "I don't want to leave you."
I knelt on the bed so I could be eye level with him. "I don't want you to leave, either."
"It's going to be dangerous for you. People will know you're on your own now."
I put my hand on his cheek. He leaned into my touch. "I'll be okay."
"You should go to Isaac. He'll protect you."
"He has several others to take care of." I shook my head. "I can take care of myself."
His lips moved as if he might smile, but he couldn't manage it. "That's my brave girl."
"We could run," I whispered.
He nodded. "We could."
But we wouldn't. He wouldn't. He had too much honor for something like that. I didn't. I felt like knocking him out and dragging him away, but they would find us and their punishment would be severe. When we still had newspapers, the government gleefully published accounts of those who tried to dodge their duty. I never had the stomach to read all the way through.
"I'm going to come back to you," he promised.
"Don't." Angry tears stuck in my throat. "You can't say that."
"This war is going to end," he went on, more for himself than for me. He was always the optimist. "We are going to be okay. Just wait."
He joined me in bed and reached for me. He tugged off my shirt and sighed when he kissed my nipples, my stomach, the curve of my hip and hollow stomach. Soon, we were naked and wrestling with one another. A shift occurred and desperation overrode sweetness. He teased and punished and soothed. Afterward, we lay together in the fading light, dust dancing between shadows.
"Don't go."
He kissed a freckle on my shoulder. "You know I have to."
"No. Plenty of people got away. We could..."
"Don't you think I would have brought you somewhere if it meant you would be safe?" His eyes blazed as he stared into my own. "Promise me you'll go to Isaac if it gets bad. People are going to give you a hard time. There will be fewer rations." He averted his eyes. "Men."
"I will," I said.
"I'm going to leave you one of my guns."
Violence met with more violence. I hated it. "You know how I feel about guns."
He tugged me close. "Hush. Please don't fight with me. Not now." He reverently nuzzled and kissed my breasts. Arousal fluttered in my stomach, even as my heart broke. "I'm not leaving you. I'll always be with you, and I'm coming back. I promise."
Tears came. "It's so useless. All of it."
We didn't say much after that. We made love again before somehow drifting off to deep dreamless sleep.
He left in the morning before I awoke. Two words were scratched on paper.
"I promise."
I vowed to believe.
This precisely captures foreboding clouds on the horizon; the man’s repeated warnings bring to mind simmering calamity stoked with a fresh load of fuel. You, madam, punch above your weight.
Yes, great example of a short story. Impactful, powerful, heartbreaking. I would love to see this seed grow into a sunflower.
Superb short story, the way you manage to capture the moment always gets to me.
It strikes me that before you mentioned newspaper and guns, this could have taken place at any period in history.
He could be a viking warrior, a WW1 soldier, a medieval peasant conscripted by his baron into his infantrymen...
You've painted a complete picture of sadness, and hope, in 750 words. Five Stars. I hope some day you'll tell the rest of their story, we would like that.