Third Night


It was his third night in the hotel and he was getting used to all the noises in the night: the wind whistling through cracked plaster, the scurrying in the walls, the groan of the elevator, the shrieking of police sirens and car alarms. Everything stank of cigarette smoke and cheap disinfectant.

Three nights. He’d told himself that it would only be one before she called and begged him to come home. But then, he’d always been a liar, even to himself.

Brushing the curtain aside, he looked at the moon – flawless and bright, distant and cold – and wept.

Word Count: 99

This is for Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for running the challenge and Gah Learner for providing the prompt photo!

20 thoughts on “Third Night

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  1. J.A, the pain your character feels as he realizes his truth comes through loud and clear. Sometimes a person has to hit rock bottom before they start the journey up. Nicely told.


    Liked by 1 person

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