Microfiction: The door

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It had been too good to be true. She understood that now. Her upbringing had prepared her for the punishment for hubris, and the right reaction was to bow her head and accept the inevitable. But the memory of his lips on hers, the taste of his tongue, the taste of all those days and nights spent together, was too strong. She refused to take the best of her life into the darkness of exile, or worse. She kissed him fiercely, and when she pulled away, her voice was raw with emotion.

“We’ll leave now. This minute.”

“But—”

“Yes! There’s the kitchen door, the one that’s never opened. They won’t be watching.”

“They might—”

“And they might be on the roof, climbing into the attic right now! You want to stand here and wait for them?”

He shook his head. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

She laughed bitterly. “Hurt? Without you, I’ll die.”

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Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

15 thoughts on “Microfiction: The door”

  1. I definitely want more, too!
    When I was in high school, there was a door in our house that was never opened–never used at all. I don’t think there were even steps on the outside–just weeds. I haven’t thought of it in years. . .

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