The Last Song of Trenton Fairweather
“I got this for us,” he said proudly, holding up a brown plastic bag tightly wrapped around a square form.
“They were on special. Two for $4.” He marched into the kitchen, sighting her vacant gaze settle on the package. She sat sprawled in the corner, still wearing her black sleeveless shirt and a pair of torn shorts.
Finding her eyes after a moment, he smiled. The lights buzzed. The fridge, empty, hummed distantly. Outside two people’s voices slid by in the darkness, caressing one another with giggles and indiscernible whispers.
This entry was posted on Monday, March 12th, 2007 at 9:22 pm and is filed under Writing. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response.