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The Fugue

I came to in the passenger seat, head throbbing. Bruised, probably. Keys vanished; him too. 

I deserved it. We began intimately, but my last recollection was rage.

Forgive me, I silently pleaded. 

My phone chimed. Desperately, I swiped and read. 

“We’re done."


Comments

  1. Well, perhaps she will remember at some point. What a story that might be!

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  2. Wonder if she would even want to remember. Sounds like a pretty violent end.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Great use of the title to add to the meaning of your 42.

    ReplyDelete
  4. This really leaves me wanting the backstory!

    ReplyDelete

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