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Four Blue Capsules

Her hands shook as she knotted his tie. Tremors washed over her until he covered her hands with his, and she wept as he kissed her lips.

When his mind decayed its memories of:

Laughter, bright lips, and firm calves

Feet on moonlit railroad tracks

Lips brushing the soft skin under his navel

She would be alone. The she that was, would be known to none.

"My little wife," He sighed, brushing fat teardrops from her cheeks, "My wild girl."

They met friends for dinner, having made arrangements that the establishment be closed to others for the night. The conversation was of brazen remembering; they howled with laughter and sparkled in candlelight. He filled his eyes with her as she slid her foot up his trouser pant. She smiled back in familiar longing; despite the years, the sickness, and the silvering of hair, her ache for his weight upon her was as desperate now as ever.

At eleven o'clock, the men shook hands and kissed her cheeks. The ancient pallbearers would wait outside.

When he took the pills from his pocket, she choked.

"Darling," he whispered.

She nodded. She had her own tablets to numb what came, but she wouldn't risk fogging their last memory.

It would only take four blue capsules. He pressed her head into his chest so she wouldn't have to watch.

"There. It's done," he breathed into her hair, and she pulled his suit jacket around her face in violent sobs.

The old man held his wife as best as he could, soothing her heart until his stopped.

Story by:

Katie Bickell

katiebickell.blogspot.com

13 July 2013