Thank you to Alistair at Sunday Photo Fiction as always for providing this prompt! To read more stories for this prompt, click here.
(ps Cheers, Alistair, I’m not posting 20 seconds before the end! 🙂 hehe! )
Annie stares through the window where ice frames an oval. The sun never seems to rise. The constant, cold drizzle feels colder than she’s ever felt, as if iced into her bones. She imagines Wheeling, its bright sunshine, though colder than Loughborough.
She likes his family, although his mother, with her strong feelings and constant chatter, intimidates her. She likes the pubs with the cozy fire and people who, when they discover she’s American, are friendly enough.
At home, she has no one but her cat.
Sean pokes his head around the door, his blue eyes concerned when he notices her by the window. “Thought you weren’t well.”
Sean, the one who had her from his first moment of silliness.
“Just . . .”
“A little. Christmas is nice here.”
He hears the words between the words. “It’s damp, dark, and cold. The rest of the year’s incredible. The summer days are brilliant.”
Her heart clutches. He wants so much for her to love it, so he can move back. They’re off to York tomorrow with his sister’s family for proper Yorkshire pudding and then to Stratford-Upon-Avon the next day for her, for Shakespeare. His fingers are cold in hers.
“Wonderful,” she says.
Categories: Flash Fiction