He sat there, staring out the window. The sweet icing coated his fingers as the breeze went by. Early Spring had always been his season. He couldn't hear the children or the traffic just the sweet blues and jazz that glided on the breezes of New Orleans.
Children laughed and tires rolled over asphalt as brass players played and drums drowned the sadness in the streets. For a moment he saw her again. sitting on the float gliding down the main street of the French Quarter. Covered in glitter, gold, and beads from head to toe, his love, his wife, the way she had been back then. And there he was a handsome man coming back home and playing horn. The crowd, the cakes, and the cacophony of sounds blinding out the reality of the world. His feet marched on and on following her and the beat. He didn't see it and he didn't feel the levy was around the corner and she was waiting there to run away. Waiting for him, waiting for the rest of his.
Sweet ice water dripped in the morgue. He didn't feel it. He didn't know. All he heard was the music and all he felt was her embrace.
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Short Stories
General FictionThese are just short stories that I wrote. Most of them center around people who talk to me and I base many of the stories off their experiences. copyright 2021
