From way back, I'm a big fan of Beatrice.

Two in the Dark

He's almost asleep when she comes into the room.

His back is to her when she climbs into the bed, so he rolls towards her. She lays her head down on his chest, and he gently reaches down to touch her.

He thinks about how happy he has been since she came into his life.

He strokes her thick, beautiful hair. He knows she likes that.

He marvels at how one only recognizes loneliness when one is no longer alone.

She moans contentedly as his fingers continue their ministrations, slowly moving down her face. He caresses the outline of her strong, beautiful features. Her prominent nose. Her strong, elegant jaw.

She moves closer towards him, and just then, he realizes he truly does love her.

He just does not like sleeping with her.

He gives her one last pat, and then orders her back to the doggy bed. There must be some boundaries after all.

Thanks to Amy for filling in for me. Your prompts were great.

The two people in a dark room prompt is now closed.

The new prompt, suggested by SA, is freedom.

Wolfram, I liked that one and did not see the end coming at all.

Thanks. It was a bit of a cheat on the prompt, but too much fun to resist.

Loved it, Wolfram. It's like one of those ads where you see the guy in a little red convertible next to a blonde, and then the camera moves around to the side of the car and the blonde is an Afghan hound. Nicely done.

Couldn't get it down to fewer words:

Something caught, just at the edge of all she knew. Drugs did an efficient job of weighting down the pain, but they weighted her, too. Most of the time she had no awareness of herself: her raddled body, her surroundings, people who moved in and out of the space she existed, mute, immobile, blinded by the lack of will to open her eyes. Not even memories were available to her in those brief moments she recalled her own existence. This new thing prised the soft dark covers off her awareness, allowed a gorgeous prismatic light to filter into the space her universe had narrowed to. She turned toward it, to something which not only relieved the monotony, but was in itself beautiful

Money can't buy you . . .

There were more long envelopes with clear windows in the mailbox. They piled them on the kitchen table and started opening and unfolding.

They stared at the pile, then slowly looked at each other.

"That's all of them, right?"

"The credit cards, the doctors, the hospital--"

"The hospital said to resubmit the bill now that the disability is official, it'll go down."

They started to grin, wrote checks, and scrawled PAID IN FULL on every invoice.

The Last Day

People were definitely looking at him differently.

Some of them stared contemptuously as he passed - others, especially some of the older ones, with a strange mixture of humor and pity.

His attempted smile rapidly melted back into his somber face, and he felt an anxious sadness.

He was no longer young and not really sure he was better off.

Even the clothes felt alien, and he self-consciously fiddled with the buttons.

His escort gave him the thumbs up and opened the final door.

He gingerly walked through but was not prepared.

The unnatural openness filled him with sudden despair, and he had to fight the urge to run back inside.

20 years with good behavior, he thought, and now I wish I had 20 more.

He sighed and bravely made his way to the bus stop.

Oh, yeah, lovely, Wolfram. Freedom as a double-edged sword.

Connie, I like the glee you get across.

Thanks, Beverly. I really loved your death-as-freedom piece, both for its rich visual imagery and for its subtlety.

Connie, I can totally relate to that kind of freedom.