 | Genre: Wee story | Word count: 150 |
Lillian
He would have intelligent eyes and long lashes, a smile that never quite left his face, hands that touched without touching.
He would bring roses, and Lillian would slot one into a slender vase on the table where they would gaze at each other while they ate.
Afterwards…
“That romantic stuff is crap,” Harold said, using the remote to switch off the TV.
Lillian smiled to herself.
“Bloody girlie flicks,” he continued. “When you boil it right down, they’re just preoccupied with sex.”
Clutching the Zimmer frame, he hauled himself to his feet.
He could be George Clooney.
“Let me show you Paris by night, Venice by gondola…”
“Yes,” she said.
“The Algarve, the Moorish bazaars. In Tahiti we’ll watch the sun set…”
“Yes…”
“…and make love on a moonlit beach…”
“Oh, yes…”
“Open your eyes, old girl, it’s bedtime.”
He shook her shoulder.
“Lill?”
Her head tipped forward.
“Lill!”
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