Ficlets

Prom

I’m standing outside on the balcony, facing the fading day. Out here, the music is only a deep bass tremble I can feel in the pit of my stomach.

I sniff and wipe the tears away with the back of my hand.

“Hey,” I hear his voice behind me, but I don’t want to turn around. I don’t want him to see me crying like this.

I feel him next to me.

“Hey, are you crying?”

“No,” I lie.

“Yes, you are,” he says, putting his arms around me in a tight hug. He holds me closely to his chest. I can imagine his heart beating beside my own. “What is it?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” I say, muffled against his tuxedo. “It just feels like this is the end, doesn’t it?”

“We’ve got all summer.”

“It isn’t long enough.”

He holds my shoulders at arms length. Looks at me closely.

“You won’t forget me, will you?” he asks softly.

“No. You’re… you’re one of a kind.”

“Do you want to dance?” he asks me.

“But there’s no music.”

“I know,” he said, wrapping his arms around me and swaying to his own beat.

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