- Post By: Jason Santo
- Date:
- Category: Uncategorized
- Tags: clouds, dark, dramatic, morning, shortstory, sky, storm, sunrise, writer, writing
The unborn hopes of a future came to them as a child from the clouds. Arms spread and hovering benevolently over the still waters of their present, they stared in awe, hands held tight for the first time since their trouble began. “Is it possible this could happen?” he asked. She unlocked her fingers from his, clearing a tear from her eye, and in the gray morning light he was again reminded – as he always was whenever he looked at her – of how beautiful she was and how wrong he’d been about himself and her. She remained silent, staring at the shapes of the sky grown eerily welcome, and he deduced fate had finally intervened to end their Cold War. Then, quite suddenly she answered. “No,” was her flat reply and his heart was confetti at a funeral once again. She turned her back on the sun and sky and walked away, but he didn’t blame her because he’d been the one to rob Heaven of wonder; he’d been the one that pissed on hope. #sky #storm #morning #dramatic #writer #writing #shortstory #dark #clouds #sunrise (at False Hopes)