“Have a seat,” she said, looking away, half afraid.
“Don’t mind if I do,” he said, sitting on the bench.
“I’m not sure why you came.”
The silence grew like the gray shroud covering the lake. Immense and bleak.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he said.
“I don’t believe it. Where does forgiveness come from? I can’t find it in me.”
“Not from you. Not from me.”
He laid an Easter lily on her lap.
“Visit his grave with me?”
A breeze sprang up, clean and strong, and she caught at the white lily.
“Don’t mind if I do,” she said.
Dreams from a Pilgrimage 
So much unsaid in this piece. I’m not exactly certain who’s died and who’s to blame, but I like that; leaving so much up to our imagination.
Claire
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Claire, I have a germ of an idea of the tragedy involved, but I too liked leaving it up to the reader.
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Dear JD,
I like that this ended on a hopeful note. Perhaps she’ll find forgiveness yet.
Shalom,
Rochelle
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I feel as if she will, even if it means taking tiny baby steps towards a single ray of hope.
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Much to wonder about. I like that you leave lots to the imagination in this piece.
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A 100-word limit sort of forced me to do that but I’m glad you thought it didn’t detract from the tale. Thank you for the comment, Caerlynn.
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One small step towards forgiveness perhaps?!
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That’s what I’m thinking anyway.
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gray shroud Immense and bleak clean and strong All these word combinations make your story come to life. Kudos.
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Thank you – Allusions are fun (when they work!)
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Good use of the repeating line. I like the feeling of hope and possible forgiveness and reconciliation at the end. I imagine a child dying, with the recrimination that can come from that.
janet
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I too have in mind a tragedy involving a child. I would like to think of these two individuals moving towards life again, together.
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Lots left to the imagination but it looks like there is hope for her.
I like your line “The silence grew…” – I can imagine them just sitting for a while not talking, both increasingly aware of the silence until one of them has to speak.
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For some reason park benches always evoke silence for me, where strangers sit and nary a word passes between them though a few inches may separate them.The story, in fact, grew from a contemplation of that silence.
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You’ve caught the feeling of their tentative attempts to reach out to each other, whatever it was that had caused a rift between them. I like the way you’ve used the Easter lily too. A tender story.
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Thanks Margaret, for reading and commenting. I couldn’t resist the allusion to the Easter lily. It was the only way I knew to signify the true source of hope in any painful situation.
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I have cried more in the last fifteen minutes of reading Friday Fiction pieces than I have in the past four weeks of therapy. Your story included. I loved your use of the element of repetition (it is one of my favorites), especially the positioning. I like that you kept it mostly on dialogue, until that one sentence where “silence grew.” Although it is somewhat vague why they are meeting, until the end, and who “they” are to each other, the loss and regret are discernible. Is it the loss of a child? I may just be projecting on the story (hence, the tears). Beautiful, JanuarysDreamer. Simply, beautiful.
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I am so grateful for your comments. I’m afraid I’m guilty of eating up any and all forms of praise from readers such as yourself as I confess that I was getting teary thinking of the pain of losing a child (you guessed right) in circumstances that seem arbitrary, even capricious. The loss seems more “understandable” psychologically when there is something to blame, but when that’s not the case, the “what if’s” loom large and blame assigned irrationally. In emotional chasms like this in this broken world, only One who truly knows, who has the power to heal hearts can give true hope, the light by which we endure and live.
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Dear January’s Dreamer, I love your story – it’s sad but full of hope too. Very well done. If this is about the loss of a child, I don’t think any words can make it better – only people giving of their time to be near you helps. But, mostly, time passing helps. Great job! Nan 🙂
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I agree with you and I’m glad you saw the hope in it too … It would have been a disappointment if I’d fail to instill that element. Thank you for the comment.
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JD, This story ended with what I would consider a happy ending. There’s hope of forgiveness and healing there. Good atmosphere. Well written. 🙂 — Susan
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It does have a happy ending in my eyes too – And the forgiveness makes that possible. Thanks, Suzanne, for your insights.
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Dear January’sDreamer,
I like your take on the prompt. I see an empathetic man sitting next to a grieving widower who sees in him the man who will replace the husband whose grave they’re going to visit. Whatever the story, the story was well written. I like that it is open to interpretation. Well done.
Aloha,
Doug
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Doug, Thank you. I appreciate your take on the story. They say that writers don’t know half of what they’ve written and I like the diverse insights that bequeaths to open eyes and ears.
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