We meet in a darkened room by candlelight and I wonder what it is that is so important as to bring me here. Is it the night? Will he purpose?
He seems so nervous, edgy.
What if I'm wrong...is there something wrong? Wrong doesn't fit this setting very well. If there was bad news to tell, why bring me somewhere so lovely? I guess the dark room could be thought of as gloomy. The idea sends a chill down my spine.
My thoughts trail away as I take my seat and the waiter brings us wine.
Wine? What's the occasion?
I rake him with my eyes hopefully. He's still looking down, avoiding eye contact. He shifts in his seat, elbows resting on the table.
I look down too. Not out of nerves, but it seems more comfortable. I decide to clear my mind, and so I focus on the cracks of the wooden table. I trace them with my fingernail, watching the light from the flickering candle dance in its harmonious way.
For a moment I feel at ease.
I look up to see his tired, bloodshot eyes now fixed on me.
They seem to shoot through me and my body goes into some state of shock.
I'm frozen in position.
prompt from P, P, & P: [link]