Seven hours ago I walked with you in the moonlight. We dallied until only a handful of stars were left: the last vestiges of night. Now the sky is pink and waiting; morning holds its breath.
Seven hours is not enough to make up for all the lost years.
My mother doesn’t believe me. How I see you at night in that instant before my eyes adjust to the dark. I didn’t open the window. I didn’t move that chair.
“Don’t leave me,” I had begged, graveside. It is just like you, you bastard, to listen this time.
They call me ugly because I am different. They call me dangerous because I am wise.
You begged me for fire. How could I refuse, you with your mother’s blessing and a woman’s smile? I gave what I could.
I would have loved you, my beauty, had you stayed.
Each night, deep in the mountains, a Dragon counted his treasure; each morning he wanted more.
One evening he flew over a lake. Looking down, he spotted diamonds, but his greedy talons caught only water.
An Owl watched him all night, swooping and diving among the stars. “How beautiful,” she thought.
Not all treasures can be held in the hands.
This week we were asked to write an original fable in exactly 51 words, excluding the moral at the end. Check out the rest of the stories on the YeahWrite microprose grid!
Her kisses are light: all heat and smoke. She trails them like promises across my skin, each one an ember that quickly turns to ash. She is a candle, a hearth fire, a beacon; I am the one who burns.