Richard hadn’t walked around Dead Salt Pond for years, but he let the dog lead the way. When he had first taken Sophia there, when she was still his student, the jetty had been newly built; firm, dark planks stretching out over the reeds. Now it was silvered and rotten, holes showing a patchwork of sunlight and shadow on water.
That day, he and Sophia made love for the first time, in the dunes behind the beach.
“Marry me,” he asked, at the end of the jetty.
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Can’t,” she said. “Richard, you do know I’m still seventeen?”
And he saw the rest of his life charge towards him, unstoppable.
Our stories are meant to be 100 words long, give or take a couple of words, but this is 114. I put the last line in, took it out, put it in, took it out, put it in… Should the last line have been taken out? I’d be really interested to know what people think. Let’s have a vote!
For those who don’t know how Friday Fictioneers works, this picture (this time supplied by Adam Ickes) is our inspiration for our weekly online writing group hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Click here to read other people’s amazing stories or to join in. And please comment below with any suggestions for improvement on mine.