copyright-Sarah Ann Hall
Stone pillars, wrought iron gate, and overgrown vegetation. Seems strange, only a few years ago, lovers danced in this courtyard.
Music filled the air as fireflies lit the surrounding fields. Victoria and Andre held each other close, though it was sweltering. Sweat dripped from his forehead, slow like honey. Her lips caught the moisture as it flowed to his cheek. Holding fast, and enraptured, they cared not about the other dancers. Hands groped, and young bodies shivered.
All that remains of those times are the phantom strains of love songs, carried by the hot summer wind.
Thank you Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting Friday Fictioneers. Kudos and criticisms are most welcome. Bring it on.