Dena

In the spirit of keeping up with the Joneses, I have decided to post a little bit of writing every so often; Joe Blame would never let me live it down if I allowed him to be the only one to present things. Here is today’s effort – make of it what you will.

The gnarls of the oak tree’s trunk dug into Dena’s back, and she shifted against it uncomfortably. It was a nice enough day, she supposed. Nobody about, no shouts or whistles to spoil it, and a faltering sunshine that broke through the cloud cover every so often for her to look at. A ray or two would occasionally touch her face, and bring the suggestion of warmth to her skin, like a memory of it.

She traced the stem of a piece of long grass with her index finger, distracting herself with its bobbles and segments; the texture gave her something to think about besides her aching.

“Still here then,” said a voice. Dena looked around, surprised. She hadn’t noticed anyone arriving.

“He said he wouldn’t be long,” she replied automatically. “I’m just waiting.”

“So I see,” said the man. He had golden eyes, Dena noticed. Never saw anybody with golden eyes before. He sat down next to her, and drew his knees up under his chin. Didn’t say anything though. It got so quiet that Dena almost forgot he was there, until curiosity made her turn back to him.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I’ve come to wait with you,” he replied, a sad look on his face.

“Why?”

“Because you’ve been here for while. Probably longer than you’ve noticed. But, it’s better to be with someone than to sit here all on your own. Don’t you think so?” Dena tried to think about this, but it was hard to keep the sense of it in her head. Her thoughts tended to slip away from her these days. She nodded, eventually.

“He said he wouldn’t be long,” she replied.

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