“He meant everything to me,” she says, adding a candle to the multitude by the stage door.
“You knew him then?”
“Didn’t we all?”
“No, I mean really know him?”
“I felt like I did,” she says, defensive before his bleak stare.
He turns away, shaking his head, and she catches his arm.
“Did you know him?”
“I think so,” he says, remembering their last evening together.
“So you needed to be here, like us…”
He pulls free, as a bus disgorges another wave of rose-bearing, candle-carrying pilgrims who thought they knew him.
“No, I need to be alone,” he says.
A grim piece to end a grim year, in more ways than one. Let’s hope the New Year heralds new beginnings for all of us. A year’s worth of thanks to Rochelle for hosting this weekly get-together and wishing all Friday Fictioneers a year of inspirational writing.