Fairfield Scribes:

Fat raindrops ricochet off the princess cut diamond and splash onto his bent knee. Thunder fills the gulf between us, drowning my reply in the belly-rattling boom.

His friends and family huddle under twinkle lights. The wind tears through the rooftop garden, uprooting the Japanese maple, flinging it heavenward to then fall eighteen stories to the concrete below. 

Lightening reflects in his anxious eyes, waiting for my trembling hand to extend. 

An atmospheric river opens above; I’m waist deep in seconds. The rising water licks at his lips, then covers them completely. 

I repeat my answer, and he is washed away.

Christy Hartman Avatar

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