Sometimes the eye sees one thing but the heart feels something else. So it was for me with this week’s Friday Fictioneers story. My eye saw the misspelled word, tried to say “Humor.” My heart felt the word that was supposed to be there and ran with it to a place far from the humor of misspelling, a land where a different kind of trespassing was no longer accepted, a land foreshadowed by both the boarded-up openings and the burgeoning plants.
If stretching makes a person flexible, then I’m doing a back bend of epic proportions with this story. But that’s fine. We Fictioneers are a gymnastic team of unbelievable ability when it comes to flexible interpretation. That’s part of the joy of writing.
Time Bids Be Gone
I pressed the shirt to my nose, noting with a sharp pang that his smell was fading. Regretfully, I realized some memories were fading as well. The hurt in my heart had lessened from agony to intermittent sadness. Almost two years now since Christmas had promised to be the best ever. When he’d…just say it, Francesca…he’d died, I’d wanted no more to do with love. But now I knew I was ready to move on, to let go, to remember without pain.
After New Years, I’d tell Geoff I was ready to try for a new baby. It was time.
We are time’s subjects, and time bids be gone. ~William Shakespeare
Here’s the link to the rest of the stories. I know the authors would love to have you stop in.