The exercise:
The topic for this edition of Four Line Friday Prose is: they're playing our song.
It appears that this coming Tuesday will mark one year in the life of Daily Writing Practice. I shall have to do something at least a little bit special for it.
Mine:
A gentle breeze plays with your hair in ways my fingers no longer can. The candlelight caresses your glowing cheeks, traces your angelic outline, as I did many years before. The radio begins to play our song and you can't stop yourself from tapping your foot on the hardwood floor, keeping the beat as perfectly as ever.
I would ask you to dance but I know you have already danced with too many of my ghosts these last few years.
My vote is for solid gold pages for your year's anniversary!
ReplyDeleteYour prose has a wistful feel to that's quite sweet :)
They're playing our song
June and Freddy sat opposite each other, in matching armchairs. June cocked her head to one side, listening to the radio.
"They're playing our song," she said, nodding happily.
Freddy, dead the last eighteen months, said nothing as the strains of Tainted Love filled the room.
I like goooooold... I'll see what I can do :P
ReplyDeleteTainted Love... ha! Nicely done. :)
I took a different spin on it.
ReplyDelete---
"Ooh," she thought to herself happily as she flipped on the radio. "That's our song." She caressed herself gently, humming along softly with the short, sweet piece. The Chopin prelude that made her fall in love with that gorgeous nine-foot Steinway in the dining room.
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I simply had to pay tribute to the first piece I played with Oliver (Chopin's Prelude No. 7 in A major, in case any of you are curious).