Little Deaths

by Nenia Campbell

He was also carrying a bouquet of flowers. Tiger lilies and baby’s breath. She felt her heart plummet along with whatever hopes she had that this wasn’t exactly what this was as she gazed upon those colorful blooms. “Donni,” he said, when she didn’t speak. His eyes were restless as they traveled over her, and when they finally met hers, his expression was a little wild. “You look . . .”

“Then you know it wasn’t even just about you. It was about frustration and loneliness, and not having an outlet for release. I poured everything I had into those books and it felt good. But it wasn’t real. The people I wrote are fiction, and the things they want don’t necessarily reflect what I want.”