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bending_sickleWell, not technically, as it's more than 100 words (221 to be exact). This is just a little scene I wrote on the spur of caffeine. In my head, rest assured, it has a timeline, but really it's just about 5 seconds of conversaton between two people. It's not even good. (More like melodramatic.) I think it's just me with a writing-itch and the handy excuse that I'm "practicing".
She heard the door open, the keys being set down on the coffee table, the footsteps cross the living room. She heard the rustle of clothes, the soft puff of breath.
The footsteps stopped.
She didn’t turn around from the window.
"What’s wrong?" He crouched beside her, hesitating before laying a hand on her arm. "What is it?" He hated the way she shrank away from his touch, covering her face with her arm instead.
"I- it’s not..." Her voice lowered just above a whisper. "It’s not wrong."
"What isn’t?"
"No, I mean..." She lowered her arm, resting it on his hand, but kept her face turned. "It’s not wrong, is it?"
"What isn’t, darling?" He shifted closer. "What’s got you going on like this?"
She gave a small huff and turned to face him. "This, the two of us." She leaned closer, her eyes flickering over his forehead, eyes, lips, chin. They settled somewhere below his shirt collar. She fiddled with the buttons. "It’s okay, isn’t it?"
"Oh, god, darling," he murmured, pressing his cheek against her forehead. "Of course it is. More than okay." She lifted her gaze at his soft kiss, resting her chin on his shoulder and folded into his arms. "It’s okay," he repeated. "It works, we work. We fit together, and it’ll work out fine."
She heard the door open, the keys being set down on the coffee table, the footsteps cross the living room. She heard the rustle of clothes, the soft puff of breath.
The footsteps stopped.
She didn’t turn around from the window.
"What’s wrong?" He crouched beside her, hesitating before laying a hand on her arm. "What is it?" He hated the way she shrank away from his touch, covering her face with her arm instead.
"I- it’s not..." Her voice lowered just above a whisper. "It’s not wrong."
"What isn’t?"
"No, I mean..." She lowered her arm, resting it on his hand, but kept her face turned. "It’s not wrong, is it?"
"What isn’t, darling?" He shifted closer. "What’s got you going on like this?"
She gave a small huff and turned to face him. "This, the two of us." She leaned closer, her eyes flickering over his forehead, eyes, lips, chin. They settled somewhere below his shirt collar. She fiddled with the buttons. "It’s okay, isn’t it?"
"Oh, god, darling," he murmured, pressing his cheek against her forehead. "Of course it is. More than okay." She lifted her gaze at his soft kiss, resting her chin on his shoulder and folded into his arms. "It’s okay," he repeated. "It works, we work. We fit together, and it’ll work out fine."
