The Heat of Her Gaze

Still.

S. K. Nicholas

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As time momentarily ceased its wicked game, I stood there in the heat of her gaze. Naked. Just bones. Less than bones, a soul squirming before the watchful eye of God. She was still my girl, and I was still her boy, and even though we were older, and our bodies had begun their gradual slide into the great celestial grave, just the sight of her put the feels into my heart. She didn’t move, and neither did I. Her eyes bore into mine with no trace of emotion on her face save for the slightest almost invisible trembling of her lower lip. I opened my mouth to speak, and then decided against it. In her arms, she held an old cat that looked at me with a hint of recognition, and of which I in turn recognised but from where I couldn’t quite say. What might’ve been strange for…

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