A Goodbye and a Drop of Flash Fiction

We are very sad to say goodbye to Robyn, who has had to leave us due to her schedule. We’ve loved having her in our group and will of course continue to support her in any way we can 🙂 But as this day just opened up, I can take the opportunity to post something (since I completely forgot to post on my own day *headdesk*)

My word is air, from the first line of Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins (rereading for the umpteenth time) 😀 The image was, as you’d expect, air 🙂 Specifically a sky shot, but air in general makes me think of breathing which made me think of my post for today.

I’ll confess I cheated just a tad in that this isn’t a new piece…this is a shape poem from a novel in partial verse that I wrote a few years ago (and am currently rewriting so it was fresh in my mind).

 

He holds
my face so tenderly,
in hands that just killed.
For me. Fingers gently touch
my cheeks. His lips kiss away my
tears, my blood. “Breathe,” he whispers.
His lips brush mine. “Just breathe.” I shudder,
my breath escaping at his command. “If you insist,”
I try to joke, but fail. Shouts fill the night air. “Go!” I cried.
“They mustn’t find you with me. Go!” He freezes, his storm
gray eyes on our hands, clasped between our pounding hearts.
The horror on his face mirrors that on my own. One last caress, so
bittersweet. He wavers. “Go,” I breathe. He steps back, back, raised
hand stained black with blood. Mine, his, theirs. His pained howl rips
through me, burning his image on my soul. “For you I’ll live,” I whisper,
unwilling to breathe, unable to stop. They will come for me, their hands
grasping, to return me to my clan. “Go!” I plead. One last look and he
runs, his tortured fury echoing through me, his pain my own. They
come, see me bathed in blood. “Who did this?” they ask. I shrink
from their touch. Gently they lift me, murmuring, “Let us help
you.” I swallow my protests, settle into their strong hands.
They ask, over and over, but I don’t speak. And they
don’t suspect. They take me home. I care not.
I’ll breathe because I promised I would.
But oh how it hurts. He is gone…
And…I…can’t…breathe….

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About Michelle McLean

Romance and non-fiction author Michelle McLean is a jeans and t-shirt kind of girl who is addicted to chocolate and Goldfish crackers and spent most of her formative years with her nose in a book. She has a B.S. in History, a M.A. in English, and loves her romance with a hearty side of suspenseful mystery. When Michelle's not editing, reading or chasing her kids around, she can usually be found in a quiet corner working on her next book. She resides in PA with her husband and two children, an insanely hyper dog, and three very spoiled cats.

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