After

By Bud Koenemund

A 100-word story

(TRIGGER WARNING: This story includes domestic/sexual abuse.)

  He always apologized after; “I’m sorry” dripping off his tongue as he gently cradled her in his arms; fingers gliding over her damp skin; caressing as if healing. The names he’d called her dissolving in the dark.

  In the morning, he’d be tender; kissing her; saying “I love you” before leaving for work, and his shame would burn off like fog in the sunshine. Showering washed away the smell of him, the taste, the…residue. This time, the pain, her bruises – already ugly yellow-brown – would fade forever. She watched his car turn the corner before she dared to breathe.

Ethereal

For “Her”

You come to me again, ethereal,
in the gathering mist of my slumber,
a vision so vivid I reach out to feel
the warmth of your skin under my fingers.

I should be used to this dream by now,
but I am fooled once again; thinking you real,
as you float, always, just outside my reach,
like dust motes suspended in the afternoon sun.

Your perfume wraps around me like an embrace.
The scent wounds my unguarded heart,
but I close my eyes and breathe it in deeply,
as if the smell could help me hold you again.

I move closer to you, to look into your eyes,
to hold your soft body once again in my arms,
stroke your hair, and taste your sweet kiss…
and to find the answers you always had for me.

The world stirs and you slowly pull away
as I reach out to gently touch your face,
still luminescent in the dying moonlight,
one more time before I open my eyes.