Pulse 17

januz-miralles

Sitting tight in this chamber, I consider my role.  It’s inevitable.  No blame’s attached; not to you for inviting me here, under duress; not to me for the consummation.

Awkward silence; I hear your pulse go – 15, 16 times.  I hear the click, click of emptiness; another moment passing by, adding its weight to the other hollow moments.

I sense the tang of perspiration, tang of stale relief.  I sense eternities of impatience.

Next round – I count your pulse: 15, 16… at 17, combustion.  Thoughts blossom up the wall.

I’m glad we kept our appointment, glad we shared it all.  I’m sorry about the mess of Russian roulette.

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This piece of flash fiction was written in response to the Photo Challenge #34 “Wrap” at Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, where all stories in the link-up were prompted by the picture by Januz Miralles at the top of this post.