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by Evida Author IconMail Icon
Rated: E · Short Story · Biographical · #1517902
A blossom wilting in the springtime.
Her eyes, dark, purple and moist, questioning. Why was this happening? Body trembling, her face pale, head tilted up towards him in the soft, yellow twilight spilling down the hallway from outside.

He always drove up in the evening shadows, a slight squeal from the brakes on his car a giveaway to his arrival.

The front door would open, wafting eucalyptus smells from the red gum on the corner and the delicate redolence from the Dapnhe bush in full bloom near the front porch.

She remembered his hand, chestnut brown, rougher than hers, dry, lined, large, cupping her small, soft hands, a tear in his grey eyes, swarthy face, his voice sad, breaking as he kissed her.

He turned away, the whiff of tobacco and manly strength. Tall but slightly stooped, he reeled slightly to the left as if he'd just taken a blow from some invisible assailant. His back slightly bowed, hanging a ruffled grey suit, like a refugee at the docks.

The door creaked closed and he was gone.

"It's all for the best".
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