The floorboards – beeswax shiny – creaked as you spun me round and round – our very first home.
We danced, my hands wrapped around your neck, breathing in your smell.
We danced, your hands over my belly feeling the first kicks of life.
We danced our daughter to sleep as she cried hot, colicky tears.
The floorboards – dull and dusty – creaked as we shuffled around the bedroom, knowing there was nothing that could save you, my head pressed against your chest as I listened to the rattle of your lungs.
Our very last dance, but sometimes I still hear the music.
Despite the sad story it’s been a great week. My paperbacks finally came and you can read how it felt to hold my debut novel in print here.
The Last Dance has been written for Friday Fictioneers – a 100 word story inspired by a photo prompt. Hop over to Rochelle’s blog and read the other entries here.