By John Young
Bruce groans inwardly as he recognises the voice. “Hello Sandra.”
“You didn’t return my call.”
“What do you want, Sandra?”
“Want?” A hurt silence. “I thought that we might meet up.”
“I thought we agreed …”
“Even so …”
“I’m seeing someone,” he lies.
“Even so,” she murmurs.
“Again, Sandra, goodbye”
Bruce breaks the connection, stands in silence for a moment then audibly groans. The sun is shining but his mood is dark. She is not well, he thinks. But, even so, this cannot go on.
Frowning he looks down at the traffic in the street. This cannot go on. Just can’t.
John Young is an old chap living in St Andrews Scotland. He loves short fiction which says a lot in a few words and exploring themes of limits and longings in life.