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Five minutes more – Re-released.

Five minutes more - Re-released.

I wrote this as part of something I conducted as a bit of an exercise in speed writing. It is the first of the subsequent, and numerous, ‘Ten Minute Tales’ I scribed.

“Five Minutes More”

Often I have wondered if my resolve would have faltered, or my deep respect for her would have waned, if I had given the devil on my shoulder five more minutes.

We had meet as pretty much kids in first year high school, although our schools were miles apart. Like me, she was from some place in the country far away. Her parents, like my own, felt the need to relocate the likes of I, we, she, and quite simply put, they did.
We, well, she and me, muddled our way through books, and youth, and school. Admittedly, she did far better than me, performing somewhat greater of the pair once combined, known as we.
School, as with all in life, was there and then it was not. She, the brighter of we, made her decisions and went on to complete her degree. I, on the other hand relocated to the country, the coming of a splinter of a wedge between me and she. We still met, enjoyed the combined company being we, attended balls, beautifully bedressed was she, beside he the bekilted, that was me.
Not long then the he, being me, farewelled she moving to a different life, a life away at sea.
Returning not many years later, he returned to she, and off they flew. Far distant lands shared. She, me, we.
Prior to flight, me, the dumber of we, found someone far inferior to she, pledging allegiance to thee, not she. Specifically as thee did not have the premarital respect that he did for she. Stupid, stupid me. She to this day does not know that of me, the respect I felt for she, the key to we.
Back home once more. She, dopey me, and easy thee, found me, standing beside the ‘should not wear white’ thee. A priest presiding over me, and thee. Stupid, stupid me. No more shall I say of thee. Just she, we, me.

Life for she, and also me, was never the same again for we. Now the years that pass for she and me, have found other paths to take. She accomplished and happy, and me walking to a different beat to that that was she, me, we.

The nights I lay beside she, constantly thinking ‘we’, each minute occurring to me to be laying closer to she. Often I have wondered if my resolve would have faltered, or my deep respect for her would have waned if I had given the devil on my shoulder five more minutes.
Room service.

(story 5/10. 10 minutes to complete = Pass)
Theme in response to request via Facebook, chosen by Lisa Anspache 16SEP2013.

Click the picture, baby I’m Howlin’ For You.

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About Hamish Ross

Indie writing at its most dubious.

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Hamish Ross

Hamish Ross

Indie writing at its most dubious.

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Never before 10am anyday; never after 10pm any night. Otherwise, all the time between is yours.
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