For dVerse and prosery this week, Merril has given us a prompt line from Sara Teasdale’s poem, “May Day:”
For how can I be sure
I shall see again
The world on the first of May
I started writing and let the story take me where it would and what fun it was. I hope you enjoy it.
Not Just Any Little Lady
His expression introduced his next question. “How long you going for?”
“How can I be sure?”
“I shall see again . . . the world on the first of May. Perhaps everything will be different. Perhaps the war will be over. Perhaps life can return to normal,” she said, hoping that her tone conveyed her sensibilities. That he would regard their minor dalliance as spontaneous and thus ill-conceived. That he would not be the ruffian-type American her father described, who wouldn’t listen to a lady’s desires. She suspected, however, he was.
“You love me,” he said with unbecoming assurance.
She frowned, would have patted his arm, if his demeanor wasn’t so like a cobra’s. “I have responsibilities.”
“No.” He grabbed her wrist.
One jab of her hat pin, a wave of her derringer, his hasty retreat minus his billfold. “Oh, you silly little man.”