Her voice crackled on the other end of the line, like the familiar warmth of an old fireplace.

Welcoming.

“I miss you,” she whispered, words quivering in tandem with the jittering thumps of his aching heart. “Come to me.”

Commanding.

Perspiration glued his phone to one trembling hand. The other clutched a bulbous glass that bore the remains of disintegrating slivers of ice. They tinkled with the indignation of a forgotten alarm.

Terrifying.

As the phone line clicked, he took one last look at the fireplace they used to share, and the flower-wreathed portrait that hung above it.

Then he joined her.

***

Based on the one-word writing prompt: fireplace.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s