“Take care,” she offered, sliding into the driver’s seat, looking into his eyes a final time before closing the door.
David stood breathlessly, watching the Volkswagen’s taillights glow as it rolled toward the street. “I can still stop her,” he thought, “and explain why I’m doing this…”
The Jetta’s directionals reflected against the wet pavement. This was it. The love of his life about to disappear into the night.
She pulled onto the empty road, the car’s exhaust stinging his eyes. “She has finals and much more to worry about,” he consoled himself. “She doesn’t need my cancer too.”
About the Creator
D.P. Martin
D.P. Martin began writing a first novel in third grade - and had it survived mom's cleaning habit, it would certainly have been a number one best seller. D.P. calls New Hampshire home, raising one son and three hyperactive cats.
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Banoom
Banoom dragged her tail through the fallen leaves on the malt path, the autumn foliage now past peak color, her breath visible in the air above her snout. Cambria woods – especially the malt path – was her favorite place on Yirrth, a retreat from awkward interactions with family ‘friends,’ volunteers, or the Charitable Order of Gnomes. A place to avoid whomever she was appointed to stay with that week.
By D.P. Martin3 years ago in Fiction
~ Dear Cousin Shee!~
07/07/0000 Dear Cousin Shee, Thank-you for sending us our first ever tree house letter. It was such a wonderful surprise to see an envelope in our tree-house mail box! It was indeed great to learn our hope was true that there is a post officer here at after all.
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