Below the Surface

By Ellie T. Jacobson

The crinkled reflection stalks each move, forcing her to remain seated in the sterile room. A young man carrying a bouquet of tulips walks towards her, “Mind if I sit here?” As he sets the flowers down, he takes her hand in his, not waiting for the answer. She eyes their matching golden rings. His appearance shifts, revealing the groom whom she wed 50 Junes ago. “I remember,” she says, staring into his sea-green eyes. Relief washes over her body with the recovered memory. They sit in solitude until she looks over, “What is your name?”

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“I write to release my words out into the world.” – the writer