Confetti and horse-shoes… champagne and roses… cheers as our horse-drawn carriage pulled out of La Place de l’Etoile.
It seemed we’d live forever, yet in no time at all we were spending more time looking for our glasses than through them…
And we started discussing the inevitable.
You’ll go before me, he said.
I suspected I wouldn’t.
I’ll manage on my own, he said.
But he knew that he couldn’t
His diagnosis rendered both conjectures irrelevant, and tonight, as agreed, I’m preparing a nightcap… hot milk and morphine.
Plenty for each of us.
Who’s to say that we shouldn’t…?
A depressing little tale, but it was this or nothing, given my current time constraints, and besides, it always seems ill-mannered not to participate when it’s one of your photographs that’s providing the prompt. This was taken in a little French village close to the canal – neither of can remember which one, but at least we both know where our glasses are. Today at least. Rochelle leads the Friday Fictioneers into another week – with a truly enlightening theme to her story. I urge you to read it and follow the link provided.