Flash Fiction: Her Lost Love.

This little fiction was first written in 2016 at yet another writers group meeting. The prompt this time was “I’m dying to know.” I’ve given it a little makeover and am now leaving it here for all to enjoy. As always, if you like what you read and would like to support me, please buy me a coffee

Her Lost Love.

Two months, three days and ten hours since I last saw him. The time has passed in a blur. I have spent many a sleepless night tossing and turning, praying and hoping. I’ve spent my days jumping at every sound when I’m home alone and have kept my phone glued to my side in the hope that he would ring.
I’m a shell of the person I once was, with my long brown hair now hanging limply down my back, and my green eyes lifeless and shrouded in shadow. I wish he would come back to me, or at least ring to let me know he’s ok. I long to hold him in my arms, feel his skin on mine and his warm breath blowing across my cheek while he sleeps.
I’m dying to know, where is he. Is he okay? Why did he leave me. I thought we were fine. He seemed happy, well as happy as someone who had just lost his job could be.
I’m lucky enough to have my friends and family around me, and the police have been extra helpful to. There’s this nice officer that visits me sometimes. His hair is a white blonde that any girl would want to run her fingers through. And his eyes. How they make me weak at the knees. I’m a bitch. A slut. I shouldn’t be thinking of how another man makes me feel, especially when the one I love is missing.
We’ve checked everywhere and no sign or sound of him. His voicemail box is full, and his social media accounts have been left untouched. The last post on his Facebook is the cute photo of us reclining on the beach as the sun sets with our hands linked and a flower tucked behind my ear. My hair danced in the sea breeze as I laughed, while he leant in for a kiss. I can still remember what his lips felt like as they pressed into mine. If I try hard enough, I can still feel the warmth of his hands as he pulled me close and brushed my hair away from my face. I often look at that photo when I’m trying to sleep. It’s almost like he’s here beside me, though a small part of me knows he’s not.
I can’t stop wondering though, where he might be. I’m dying to know. Is he okay? Why did he leave me? Will I see him again? Only time will tell. I will just have to keep hoping, praying and hunting. Until death do us part wasn’t said for nothing.

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