Writing
Challenge
A website proposed a writing
challenge. First date and a glass of merlot. They wanted me to pay to
share my story. Nahh I would rather share it with you. Complete
fiction but wouldn't be nice.
So here it goes
Glass of Merlot and I still love you today
A long bar and several stools. As I
sat I saw her hair, her lips and every movement of her body. When
she smiled I was smitten. I blushed and asked for the special please.
She looked deep into my eyes and she
thought forever. We have a special ... A merlot. Would you like to
try it? It is only 19.88.
No just a draft please. I want to be
here for a while not to fall off my chair. She giggled and pulled the
draft I asked.
I spun in my stool and looked out
the window. A perfect sunny day and everyone was smiling as they
rushed here and there. Tall, short, fat, skinny. Everyone going
everywhere.
A flower dress caught my eye amongst
all the suits and pantsuits. The dress flowed around her. The
sunlight danced.
She was gone in the crowd but a
musician played a song on the street. The song reminded me of times
gone past.
Those times are long past. Over the
hours the musician played on. I was smitten by each smile and each
beer. Pulled myself from the stool knowing it was all a fools dream.
Outside the music played on. My toe
tapped then my body swayed. I danced the same old drunken dance.
What you want to hear sir. I didn't
even think about it "pretty woman" I slurred the "tom jones
version." He chuckled "ya I know". I missed his smile as he
motion to the tin on the ground.
He played and I danced. We sang.
"Pretty woman, I don't believe you. You're not the truth. No one
could look as good as you"
A hand touched mine. She sang "What
do I see? Is she walking back to me? Yeah, she's walking back to me
Oh, oh, pretty woman"
So long ago she sang to me.
I buried my wife today in a pretty
flower dress. "Pretty woman, don't go away, Pretty woman, don't
make me cry, Pretty woman, don't walk away, hey, Okay, If that's the
way it must be, okay" I still love you today.
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