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section7mfuHalf drabbles inspired by lines from a poem.
Sonnet 27: Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed ~William Shakespeare
.For then my thoughts, from far where I abide,
It was his weekend off, and Illya disappeared wordlessly, not telling Napoleon of his plans.
No, this was private, his rendezvous with Marion.
They met at a B & B outside the city; he anticipating spending the day in bed with her, but that was not to be.
She was unhappy.
.
Presents thy shadow to my sightless view,
She blindsided him, saying she wanted more than to be an afterthought, and merely his bedmate, like a common strumpet.
He couldn’t give what she wanted, insisting he cared for her.
She sent him packing, it was over.
He sighed, this was his lot in life...to be abandoned again.
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