Saint James Infirmary

August Rode

A former Ficleteer...


Superficially, the last evening we were together had started out well but I sensed something of a distance separating us. I wanted to discuss it but she gently shushed me every time the subject came near to being spoken aloud. The subtext of finality grew more obvious as the evening wore on. It was as though she was creating memories of us that she didn't expect to experience again.

When we parted that night, I asked her whether she was leaving me. She paused in the doorway, limned by the light coming in from the street, but didn't turn. She stood there tensely for a long moment, not moving, not speaking. When her shoulders relaxed, I knew she had come to a decision. I hoped she would face me. Instead, she stepped through the doorway and quietly closed the door behind her.

Until this moment, I never saw her again.

How had it come to this? I thought, sadly.

"Yes, that's her," I said.

The medical examiner gently drew the sheet back over her beautiful, pale, still face.


Prequels

No prequels yet. Why not write one?

« Write a prequel

Sequels

No sequels yet. Why not write one?

Write a sequel »

Comments (2 so far!)

Average reader rating 5.00/5

Robert Quick

Robert Quick

Everything about this is perfect.

  • #3856 Posted 24 days ago
  • 0
  • 5 out of 5
August Rode

August Rode

Can't go wrong with a 90 year old blues song as inspiration.

  • #3860 Posted 24 days ago
  • 0
  • Published 25 days ago and featured 24 days ago.
  • Story viewed 5 times and rated 1 times.

All stories on Ficlatté are licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 License. What does this mean?