Memory Mocking

Over and over again she heard it: cougar, robbing the cradle. Hell, the cradle had been rocking for 32 years, it had well and truly been robbed long before her.

She sat opposite him, San Francisco glittered around them. As she regarded him, she saw the shape of the brow bone, the azure of his eyes; the similarity was more than coincidental. She felt the air struck from her lungs. He grabbed her hand, professed love.

In all this time she thought she was reaching for something new, when really it had been someone old, a memory teasing.

2/15/2017

S. Darlington

Categories: Flash Fiction

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