He couldn’t look back at the children. He couldn’t think of it. All he could do was watch the eyes of his wife.He pulled her to him, her body soft, her skin warm. She was life, she was his. He took her lips and tasted his freedom once more. The subtle tenderness. The hope hidden in joined breath. He took it into himself. Soaking in the peace that came with it.And even as the rustling began he felt still, he felt calm. Scratching and scrapping within the stones, and the rustle of wings. But all Eli knew was the nature of love.
Rachel A. Marks, Distant Passages - Volume 2: More of the Best Short Stories and Poetry from Double-Edged Publishing
death, hope, hope-and-despair, kiss-of-death, kissing, love, love-story, lovers, romance, sacrifice