Looking For You
Photo credit: biberta from morguefile.com
Smoke billowed from his maw. His cigar was nearly out. As he sipped his scotch, he stood there, gazing out of the window, as if searching for something. The fire was dying, it fizzled and cracked. When the warmth of the blaze dissipated, he decided to look through the rain one more time. That London rain. Dawning some rain gear, he went out once more into the downpour. Searching, searching, searching. But no sign. That was it. She just was not here.
This happened day in ad day out. Always the rain. Years passed. His age started to get the best of him. Still, he looked out the window. Rain beat down on the glass panes. The only changed between now and when he had started his search was the chair that aided him. Sweat beat on his heavy brow and trickled down to the thick, graying mustache that sat on his upper lip. He started to fret, now more than ever before. It had been some twenty years since she left him.
In his final hours, the doctors and nurses scrambled to get his affairs in order. Lawyers came in and out frequently, always with a briefcase in tow. Suddenly, there was a young nurse leading a tall woman in who seemed strangely familiar to him. Her charm and looks were only rivaled by the man’s long since gone wife. As her navy blue high heels clicked while she swayed those seductive hips toward him, it became clear that this woman and the man’s wife were indeed one in the same. To his further dismay, she had not aged a day since they departed. Once close to him, she kneeled down next to the bed. Her tight blue dress became increasingly vivid to the old man. She kissed his forehead and whispered in his ear. The gentle curls of her bobbed hair caressed his cheek as she asked, “Where have you been, darling?”
Taken aback by the question, the old man could only utter but three simple words before the euphoria ended. With his dying breath, he croaked,
