Black Shatter

flash fiction by Gry Corvin
Amy by Raymond Mac Neill on Flickr.
He stood at the foot of her son’s bunkbed. She had slept there the   night before, her son being grown and in college.  He had been dating   her for about six months, but had not succeeded in getting her to sleep   the entire night with him. She slept alone.
She reached out and touched the name stitched on his shirt. He kissed her lips. She wore only gloss. He liked that.
“I want to make you some coffee,” she said.
Her  hair was mussed up. He wanted to forget his scruples, drop his  pants,  and climb right into her child’s bed, but he was running late.
“I  don’t have time.” It was cold outside. He had to get the truck  started.  “OK, make me coffee, would ya? And chop, chop.” He patted her  bottom.
She  would pour him a steaming pint in his big thermos with cream and  sugar  and he would drink from it slowly to make it last. He would make  sure  everyone noticed its presence too, clinking it down here or  there.
When he came back into the house, she was on the kitchen counter, kneeling, stretching for a bag of sugar.
“Watch  it now, baby,” he said, trying to scold her, though he had  caught a  glimpse of her dimpled thigh under her nightshirt. He knew he  would  remember it all day.  He pulled her down and retrieved the  sugar.  She  took it from him with her icy, thin fingers.
“Let’s get married,” he said.
She  didn’t look up to meet his gaze. She held the bag over the mouth  of the  thermos. As he watched a seemingly endless white stream fall  into his  coffee, he felt a pressure on his chest.
“Yes,” she said. When he  looked up, he saw that she was watching his  face, was not watching the  sugar, was smiling in that way she saved  for things that secretly  pleased her.
more of Gry’s stories can be found here: http://blackshattered.wordpress.com/

Amy by Raymond Mac Neill on Flickr.

He stood at the foot of her son’s bunkbed. She had slept there the night before, her son being grown and in college.  He had been dating her for about six months, but had not succeeded in getting her to sleep the entire night with him. She slept alone.

She reached out and touched the name stitched on his shirt. He kissed her lips. She wore only gloss. He liked that.

“I want to make you some coffee,” she said.

Her hair was mussed up. He wanted to forget his scruples, drop his pants, and climb right into her child’s bed, but he was running late.

“I don’t have time.” It was cold outside. He had to get the truck started. “OK, make me coffee, would ya? And chop, chop.” He patted her bottom.

She would pour him a steaming pint in his big thermos with cream and sugar and he would drink from it slowly to make it last. He would make sure everyone noticed its presence too, clinking it down here or there.

When he came back into the house, she was on the kitchen counter, kneeling, stretching for a bag of sugar.

“Watch it now, baby,” he said, trying to scold her, though he had caught a glimpse of her dimpled thigh under her nightshirt. He knew he would remember it all day.  He pulled her down and retrieved the sugar.  She took it from him with her icy, thin fingers.

“Let’s get married,” he said.

She didn’t look up to meet his gaze. She held the bag over the mouth of the thermos. As he watched a seemingly endless white stream fall into his coffee, he felt a pressure on his chest.

“Yes,” she said. When he looked up, he saw that she was watching his face, was not watching the sugar, was smiling in that way she saved for things that secretly pleased her.

more of Gry’s stories can be found here: http://blackshattered.wordpress.com/

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