i dreamt this story up one morning. today i wrote it out & entered it into a short story contest, 500 word limit.
i think its fun if nothin else. ---------------------------
The dew covered the chilled gold of the wedding band, still clinging faithfully to its limp finger. By noon his young bride was there to identify his body. Three days later he was buried. Months after he began to make appearances in the mind's eye of his pretty widow as she slept during twilight hours. She shrugged them off easily. Dreams were merely common temporary madnesses. She lived on.
. . .
"Dave?" he asked. She smiled. "What kind of name is that for a goldfish?" "I think it's a fine name," she giggled. What kind of name is Kelly for a man?" "Kelly's a great name! A good name. A strong Irish name." "But you're not Irish," she laughed again. "I know...but it's still a good Irish name." They were quiet a moment. "Dave was my husband's name. He died some time ago." His embarrassment for laughing at the name hung thickly in the air between them and she sensed it. "It's okay." Silence again. "He was murdered. They never found out who did it, but I know who it was. I just wanted to keep him around forever, you know? So I got this fish before he died and named it after him. I feel like he's always here now, and only mine. I only wanted to take care of him.” She walked to the bowl and twirled the tip of her finger around in the water. Dave swam frantically to the bottom of the bowl and tried to burrow through the polished rocks and marbles. “Now I can, sort of.”
She turned to find Kelly reclining on the bed behind her, resting on his elbows with eyes that sagged with sadness. She smiled and laid next to him. “It’s okay. I’m not sad anymore. The hole is gone; you’ve filled it pretty well.” The collapsed into each other’s embrace and punctuated it with a long kiss.
. . .
“Kelly?” she called. She was about an hour late getting home from work. She found him in their bedroom looking casually out the window. “Who are you looking at?” “No one,” he said, “just looking.” He kissed her forehead. “Where you been, babe?” She made no sign that she had felt his kiss or heard his question and looked out of the window. “Were you watching that woman over there?” She stared at him angrily, and he looked at her with genuine puzzlement. “What woman? And what’s in the bowl?” “Oh,” she said with a brightened demeanor, “it’s another fish.” She walked to the dresser and there placed the clear glass bowl she carried in her hands. Kelly went back to the window and closed his eyes in the face of the warm breeze that swept through the room. “And what’s this one’s name?” He turned to find her smiling maniacally and brandishing a freshly sharpened butcher’s knife in one hand and a thick rope in the other.
