Stolen from Carmen

I saw the phrase “stolen from Carmen” and it led me to write this. It’s pure fiction, very rough and I wouldn’t usually post it here but I quite enjoyed writing it. It hasn’t benefited from editing or more than just a few minutes in a text editor.

Last night, when the rain made bubbles in your windscreen glass, I tried so hard not to look.

Motorway lights flashed amber as we passed; gave me seconds-long glimpses of the face I’d so long dreamt I’d wake to. Your hand on the gear-stick — shaking with the vibration of that dying car — pulled at me. But touching you — even there, alone — would have too soon shattered our odd little truce.

Songs in minor keys played on the radio, drew tears across my cheeks. No matter: as I counted down the miles I knew I’d always hold close the memories of that, our final journey.

Soon, we came to the sea and my thoughts turned to that one night we’d spent together. I swallowed hard as I remembered the shivers your fingers sent through me, the ache you nurtured. Those few moments — stolen from Carmen — would be the barrier to any normal future I could hope for.

Out of the car window I saw the bridge and felt the seconds slipping away; yet again I was falling towards something, out of control. You stopped, I opened the door; could’ve sworn I heard the ping of a submarine from beneath the waves. You stared directly ahead but I saw it: that quiver of your eyelid meant more to me than anything you might have said.

Within seconds, you were nothing more than tail-lights and memories.