The young couple had known each other just over a year. They talked about marriage, but hadn’t yet fixed a date. She was outgoing, keen on contemporary dance, a volunteer for Amnesty International. He was more reserved, a talented photographer, currently unemployed. He often said, if they had a baby, he’d be a stay at home dad.
At first, all you saw was the blood. But then you noticed their foreheads touching, their fingers interlinked. And although they no longer spoke, their words were clear: ‘You kill me. I don’t die. You think you ruin me? You don’t. You never will.’
I normally have no trouble with concentration. I don’t procrastinate, I never get writer’s block. But all of yesterday, I couldn’t do anything. Not even read. In the evening, we had dinner with the neighbours. Very little was said about the events 5000 miles away. There wasn’t much to say. This morning, we went for a five-hour walk, which made me feel better. Still not good, but better. It’s that ‘life goes on’ thing. I had another text drafted for Matt’s Flash Fiction Foray (this week’s song prompt: You Ruin Me) but it seemed futile, so this one takes its place. Futile as well, but at least it connects with something that needs to be expressed, even if, right now, it seems like we have to dig deep to find the conviction. This time, things have changed. The couple in the text (totally imagined) are ordinary – could be anyone. I don’t see fear in the air, but worry. It’s all such a mess. And I don’t trust the politicians to get us out if it.