Cualacino (italian)- the mark left on a table by a cold glass.
Not going to say much as I'm doing a rewrite on a submission, which sadly might not be up to par and won't submit in time for the deadline. If not, oh well, I'll post it up once I"m happy with it. For now back to the salt mines for me.
Enjoy this little 100 word story.
*picture is originally from http://www.homemademamas.net/2012/02/agghhh-water-rings.html
12/12/2013 (Thursday)- Cualacino
She thought he was special. Different.
He made her smile, laugh, feel butterflies. His eyes would become black whenever she caught him staring at her and she would blush. He had this thing about him: the way he spoke, looked, and timidly touched her hand. She liked it.
She felt special. Different.
His kisses were wet and sweet. His breath mixed with cigarettes and whispered words and pushing just a little bit for more each time.
No, she whispered but he wouldn’t leave that one time.
No, she whispered but he had already left his mark.
A cold wet tear.