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This diary entry is written by ParisIsBurning. ( View all entries )
 

My Old FriendCategory: Stories - Fiction (0 - 1000 WC)
Sunday, 9 February 2014
01:12:37 AM (GMT)
My Old Friend
By: ParisIsBurning (Ann)
WC: 526

She met him first on a Wednesday afternoon. The shared a bus seat. He smiled at her
and her stomach did a flip. She looked away and hid her blush in a book. He got off
at 45th Street and Chaucer, the stop two before hers. Neither thought much of it
until they met again. She worked the graveyard shift at Daniel's, a cheap little
restaurant who's owner had packed up years ago, and no one even knew who Daniel was.
The place wasn't the worst, but they had their fair share of problems and she leaned
on the countere when he sauntered in. He gave her a sile as he settled himself in a
booth by the window. She approached him, and he ordered a simple black coffee.

"I'm Emily." She said, as she shuffled back with the mug of the caffinated beverage.

The man laughs, a rich sound that makes her stomach flip, "I know." He says, quietly.
"I'm Henry." He says, just as quietly as before.

She flushes, the color taking up her pale face, highlighting her cheeks, making the
freckles stand out. "I didn't know." She responds with a laugh. But somewhere in her
mind she knew that. He laughs too and for that moment, their hands touch and it seems
to last forever, his larger, tanned, work calloused hand touching her pale, smaller,
but just as worked hand, until she pulls away, "Is that everything?"

"I don't know, would you want to sit down?" He offers, and she glances around. No one
came in this late and so, she nods, settling herself across from him in the booth,
nervously twirling a piece of hair. "So, Emily, do you want to go on an adventure?"
He asks, with a roguish grin that looks so, completely familiar and she is so
frustrated because she doesn't know who this man is, but he looks so familiar now
that she gets a good look at him.

"What?" She asks, brows furrowing to show her confusion.

He laughs, "An adventure." He said, drawing out a book and handing it to her. It
wasn't thick, but it was still a fair sized piece of literature, and she traces her
fingers over the cover and she wants to cry, because it's not just any book, it's a
photo album of her. Of them. Her eyes tear up, and she stands up to run around the
table, and he's standing up and they just hold each other and she cries into his
chest, sobs racking her body.

"Henry...They said you were dead..."

"I know."

And they kiss, and it's like heaven for a moment and then her eyes open and life gets
a little sadder for a moment and she sits up, and sees his picture on the dresser,
with his hat and she cries, fresh tears falling over the older tracks on her face and
she wraps the blankets around her and takes shuddering breaths and she looks up at
the sky and the strs wink back at her and she can feel him up there, watching her,
and she doesn't feel so alone, knowing he's up there.
Last edited: 9 February 2014

Comments 
‹Dragonborn› says :   10 February 2014   972543  
WOW!! *claps and whistles* 
That's quite the story, bittersweet too.
Your a pretty good writer Ann. 
 

 
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