Breath on my Neck

*The following is a “dialogue-only” flash fiction work.

“Would you stop that?”

“What?”

“I can feel your breath on my neck.”

“Do you like it?”

“Stop reading over my shoulder.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Did you know Mrs. Campbell died?”

“Nope.”

“Heart attack, it says.”

“I see. Why do you read that morbid stuff? Shouldn’t you be reading Cosmo or Good Housekeeping or something?”

“I was checking to see if you were dead yet.”

“Funny, Maria.”

“Stop breathing on my neck.”

“I can’t believe you can feel that.”

“Well, I can.”

“Hey, is that Mr. Smith? Well I’ll be, the old man finally kicked the bucket.”

“That’s not nice.”

“He was a real pain. Can’t say I’ll be attending his funeral.”

“Really?”

“Really. Now turn the page so we can see who else died this week.”

“You’re doing it again.”

“Seriously?”

“It’s giving me chills. Like a cold breeze. Making my hair stand on end.”

“Okay, okay. Is that better?”

“I suppose. There.”

“Wow, you couldn’t have put a better picture in there?”

“What did you want?”

“Well, our wedding picture would have been good.”

“I look horrible in that picture.”

“Yeah, but not as bad as I look right now.”

“True.”

“Is that how you will remember me?”

“That’s how I’m going to try to remember you.”

“I like that picture.”

“I liked it more last week.”

“Why?”

“Because I wasn’t reading the obits and seeing your picture there.”

“Oh. I guess that makes sense.”

“Hey, will you breathe on my neck again?”

“I thought you didn’t like it?”

“At least I know you’re still here with me when I can feel it.”

“When’s the funeral?”

“Thursday.”

“Are you ready?”

“Are you going to be there?”

“Body and soul.”

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