Joan Crawford & John Gilbert; publicity photo for the film “Four Walls,” 1928. Public domain image in the U.S.
“There. Beautiful. Now everyone will know you are mine.”
“That’s a silly thing to say, of course I’m yours.”
Sarah ran her finger over the locket, her pale hand shaking as she lifted it to the light. The many stones cast its golden rays, setting her face aglow. Her radiance, in that moment, almost made Brenton believe that. But when she dropped the necklace down to her concave chest the harsh reality practically slapped him.
Her eyes had lost their spark long ago. Nothing he gave her made it come back. He showered her with flowers and fancy date nights, jewelry and even a house to call their own. But every day he saw the signs. Her strength waned, her weight seemed to melt off her.
He was fooling himself. She had not been his for a long time.
She belonged to another.
She belonged to Death.
This flash fiction story was written for Flash! Friday 3-36
Word Count: 147
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