He tapped the photo of the group of boys on the back of his hand as the emotions burned in his throat. A small tear welled up in the corner of his eye and with a deep sigh, he sat back on the couch.
“Want to talk about it?” She asked as she set her wine glass down.
“They were just going to the last day of school.” He choked out, trying to measure his voice. “I saw them walking down the beach on my final day there, so happy, so full of life.” Talking seemed to calm him just a bit. “I knew I had to get a photo. Something just,” he paused looking up, “felt right. Ya know?” Taking a deep breath, he began to speak again. “Ten minutes later, the terrorists blew up the school.”
She flipped through the other photos, all from the aftermath of the bombing. Placing them back down on the coffee table, she put her arm around him, trying to comfort him. “It’s going to make a great photo-essay.”
Filed under: Micro Fiction Tagged: FFfAW
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