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Last Three Minutes
|AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (1)
Journal Entries (Short Stories) This piece does not relate to any specific war, nor is it realistic. I just wanted to write a different love story. [1,724 words] [Romance]
Last Three Minutes
Last Three Minutes
A cool breeze swirls by, and they smell the ocean. What a beautiful day to sit on a bench by the sea. A few clouds in the sky take different shapes and colors. The woman has waited for this day for so long, and it is finally here. Her long brunette hair curled inside at the bottom, which shows that she took extra time to prepare for this special occasion. Her round, gold earrings complement her chestnut hair perfectly as it glistens in the sun. A matching gold necklace cradles her neck, and gold buttons flow gently down the front of her suit jacket. Red folds at her collar and her sleeves make her skin look silky and soft. Her long face is drawn away from the man she loves, filled with pain. She tries to hold back the tears, and purses her lips to help. Why? She thinks. All I want is some time with him alone. No work, no business, no dangers. Why my husband? Why does he have to risk his life to save another? Why canít he stay with me? When he touches me I do not feel alone, but I can tell that he is going to leave again. I want to know that he is going to stay. A strong, compassionate touch. When will he touch me again like that?
ĎOh no.í He thinks. ĎThis was so supposed to be our day, the one I had promised her for so long.í He reaches for his love and touches her back in an apologetic kind of way, dressed in a long coat that covers most of his body except for his white dress shirt and his red tie that matches the ladyís red collar. His face does not carry the same pain as the womanís. Her face carries expectancy. What a fool he had been to think that his job could be ignored for more than five hours, let alone an entire day. He sits on the bench with his legs crossed and his right hand resting comfortably on his lap, still trying to enjoy his time, and trying not to upset his wife anymore.
However, the woman is agitated. Her right hand taps on her knee and her left hand grips the bench she is sitting on while trying to support her weight. She looks as if she is getting ready to stand up and leave. His touch turns into a grasp, holding her back, telling her not to leave, it will be okay.
The couple finally acknowledges that the shadow over them was not a passing cloud. The husband turns and asks the man standing behind their bench if this could wait until tomorrow. He replies with a regret. How stupid he looks with his red tie at half-mast, the husband thinks. There he stands with his white shirt, and light coat on sloppily. Put on in a haste no doubt, and tossed around when hurrying to look for someone. To look for me. Why canít he leave me alone with my wife? That son of gun, even though there is no rain, he carries an open umbrella to grant himself shade. How dare he. Here he brings a black umbrella to shower us with ill news, yet he wants to protect himself from the blazing sun. All the pain he has brought us, brought my wife, can not be forgotten. He bitterly asks if it can wait until tonight. No. After dinner? No. Supper? No. Anger now rising, in a few hours? No. In one hour? No. Desperation now, thirty minutes? No. Pleading for fifteen. The man sighs, showing respect to the Colonel and his wife he says three. Three minutes. He glances towards the woman, and guilt is placed upon him. But he had his orders to obey, and he had to assist the Colonel back to Head Quarters. This man does not understand even an ounce of her pain.
She hates to see this man. She hates to think of this man. She hates this man. She thinks to herself. Go on, leave. Nobody cares. It does not matter to anybody how I feel, how I hurt. No, donít touch me, please, stop, donít. Donít go. Donít stop. Please.
She stares at the ocean, and knows that her and her love will be separated between that ocean once again. His life will be at stake, This may be the last time she sees him alive. The last time he touches her. Their last three minutes. She turns to look at her other half, but can already feel the ocean forcefully tearing their hearts apart.
Happy anniversary, she thinks. Now my husband is going to taken away to serve the country once again. Canít they get someone else? Is there anyone just as good? Oh God, donít stop touching me, stay here forever. Please, why now? I didnít even get to tell him that we are going to have a baby.
His apologetic touch turns into a compassionate one. She is slowly admitting defeat, coming back into his arms, relaxing. If all they had was three minutes, then it will be the best three minutes they have together on this special day. Their last three minutes as a family.
ĎOh, I wish that man would leave my husband alone.í
ĎOh, I wish that man would leave my wife alone.í
ĎHow I wish I could leave them alone.í
This beautiful day now turns grey. The wind howls with sadness like a lonely wolf howls to the moon. The ocean looks sad, almost green instead of blue. It is steady, and still. Is it a sin for such a beautiful day to turn horrible. Trees mourn, the rain cries, and the ground shakes. Why did we have to go to war?
They shared their last three minutes.
|READER'S REVIEWS (1)
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"read this a couple time and must admit to a bit of mist in the eyes, really well told. why to war, somedays it's clear as a bell somedays just hazy but war it is and many people suffer unfortunately. personally i think it's harder on the ones behind, the un-uniformed heros." -- curious.
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© 2005 Silver Fox
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