Kiss me, she whispered.
What? He stopped what he was doing.
He let out his breath.
She didn’t move. Still, she lay
underneath him. Kiss me.
You’re crazy! He spat. Fuckin’ looney tuney bitch!
Then he was gone.
It wasn’t what she expected,
but she didn’t mind.
Her senses returning, she gathered
her clothes, strewn about the alley
Later, after a bath and a glass of Chardonnay
The last year she lived, buried
under a mountain of depression
suffocating her will to live.
Nothing could bring it back
until a stranger, intent on harm
refused her last request.
Even a death row inmate
is granted a final meal
opportunity to utter his dying words.
If this man insisted on taking her life
the most precious thing she had
the least he could do was
Written for the prompt @ dVerse</a> -- Meeting the Bar: Symbolism. I read the post and then this is what rolled off my pen. It's loosely based on a story I've been working on with the same title. I must admit I was taken by surprise... and decided to post it before I could change my mind. Also posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads</a> Open Link Monday.