Regret

Writing Club

Prompt: Write a story about the orange dinky car.

                   She sat holding the small toy in her hand.  The crystalline flakes melting to reveal the car’s worn orange body as the heat of her palm warmed the metal.  It was all that remained of the horrific moments before.  He was gone, heralded away by much shinier and brighter things.  The rusty old car resting in her palm, a reminder of their childhood together, of things that could not be. 

                   It was a moment that she had seen coming from a mile away.  He had to leave.  She should have been better prepared for it, but sometimes what is right in front of your nose is actually pretty difficult to accept.  Anyways, the taxi had come and there they had stood in the falling snow.  His lips met hers with a cold kiss.  And that was that, a brief good-bye.  His face lacked the regret that she desperately hoped would exist.  There was even that momentary smile that crossed his lips.

                   In one small gesture, he had opened her hand, placed his childhood treasure into it and folded her fingers over top.  All most reflexively her hand closed around the toy car tightly.  No words were needed.  A crisp gust sent a swirl of white across her wet face, sending her rough scarf up sharply to slap her cheek.  As the cab left the curb, she couldn’t even manage to look up.  It was one departure that she would rather not remember. 

                   The screech of brakes, followed by the sharp honk of a horn and then the crunch of metal brought her gaze up.  She followed the checkered strip over the yellow metal to the tractor-trailer resting on top.