Five Decembers

by James Kestrel

Blame would spread as far as it would go. Like pouring a can of paint down a hill. Most of it would end up at the bottom, but it would stain everything it touched on the way down.

Missing her was its own peculiar satisfaction. It was proof he belonged somewhere.

They kissed, and she let that linger long enough for him know that it was all right. That nothing had changed. Now he understood what had been eating him all day. He was depending on something that itself depended on another person’s free will. And he couldn’t watch her all day, and head off second thoughts before she had them. They just had to trust each other. Which was exactly as it should be, but it was dangerous all the same.