Too Late

The blues and whites mingled and glistened, cascading down the falls. He had been here often with Emily when they were still together. Now he was alone and thought it a shame she wasn’t with him to enjoy the view.

“Tell me you love me,” he had pleaded, his hands caressing her throat firmly.

She refused to speak, instead clawing at his hands. He pressed more firmly, insisting she must promise commitment. Still she scratched and still he squeezed, both refusing compromise.

He had warned her that her willfulness would be to her own detriment. Perhaps she was sorry now.

© Natalie Goodwin, 2019