"Close the door when you leave, alright?" A soft, velvety voice echoed across the white, bare room. Pausing for a moment, the woman fixed her eyes on the hunched figure of a friend—as if waiting for a sign of life.
She sighed, "Don't forget to close the door. I'm going ahead."
Bloodshot eyes finally looked at her yet remained lifeless as she merely glanced at the older woman. Her disheveled hair didn't look any better in her pristine white polo.
Hearing the final click of the door locking behind her, she finally let her walls crumble. With a trembling hand, she reached out to touch the man's face who laid as stiff as a log.
Her fingers delicately traced the bridge of his nose, stopping just a little at the edge of his lips. In that moment, she wondered how his pale lips seemed so oddly fitting in the bare, white room. How the once soft lips who used to kiss her senseless felt dull and dry.
She moved on and started to gently caress his left cheek; feeling every imperfection that she once felt whenever she cupped his face.
Slowly, and a bit more hesitantly, her hand hovered around his left eye—just a little above where the scar started. She breathed the air she didn't know she held as her fingers delicately traced the marred skin that ironically looked like a lightning bolt—as if mocking the man's love for rains and stormy nights.
The scar was old; he had it when he was still a child, and although it was a traumatizing part of his life, he learned to accept the scar as a testament of his survival—not of an abusive father, nor of a drunken night.
And she was so proud of him; from then until her last breath, she would always clap for the man who has a lightning scar. Maybe, possibly, surely kiss him above the scar just as she used to.
But until then…
The woman let a small smile grace her lips as she stood up. She began to walk away from the man who didn't even flinch with everything she did.
She flattened her long, blonde hair, and dried her swell eyes.
Taking one last longing look at the man, she stepped out of the room—making sure to close the door.
This is a short prompt I wrote for my ENG101 (English Prose Styles) class during college. Hope you like it!
