Fiction

The Lilies of the Walk.


The cold caressed her skin, a whisper of secrets, as if from a freshly baked cake. The ghost of a smile etched on her face, she looked up at the sky and closed her eyes, as if in prayer. A sudden noise broke into her tranquility, startling her. She looked around into the void and sighing, she walked ahead; in an even slower pace.

She wished she didn’t have to come alone every time. She longed for a companion, someone to walk this long stretch, a reassuring hand by her side. Perhaps, she wouldn’t mind some conversation either. But again, she loved the solitude too. Reaching her destination, she paused, staring at the familiar yet strange surroundings, suddenly uncertain. No matter how many times she came here, she could never really feel home, or wanted. Taking a deep breath, she glanced down at the bouquet of lilies she was holding, so tight as if her life depended on it.

It was always lilies. He liked them the best, saying that they reminded him of her. How could she not fulfill his whim? She could never refuse him anyway, especially not today. It was bis birthday! Choking back the memories and tears threatening to overwhelm her, she knelt, almost tripping and placed the bouquet at the waiting grave. His.

There is no excuse for death. There is no way to completely get over it. Only the living knew.

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