A carefully placed red rose landmarked the centre of a table for two.
Clean white dishes laid to each end; their elegance supplemental of the
symmetrically ordained arrangement. The aroma of a meticulously crafted
repast crept its way through the room, as it escaped the bustling clutter
of a busy kitchen. Atop a fireplace mantle, towards the room's posterior,
lay a small box, and a clock that had ticked 45 minutes past the hour.
The young man turned his glance toward heart pounding cadency of the
ticking timepiece. He shook his head, as a nervous smile formed on his
lips. Small beads of sweat sweltered upon his brow. He wiped them off
with a clean rag, and stared back at the clock. Forty-five minutes, he
thought. She's forty-five minutes late.
However, this presumptive revelation only grew his already glistening
smile. She was always one to arrive with fashionable punctuality, and he
loved her for it. She was his angel, the cure for his shaking heart. She
was his princess, and tonight he would ask her to be his queen.
The butterflies that danced within his stomach caused his hands to
tremble. He paced back and forth, as his echoing mind rehearsed a
carefully formed proposal. Tonight, he would tell her how much he loved
her, how wondrous her presence made him feel, how gifted he truly was to
have her. Tonight, he would ask her to be with him for the rest of his
life. But a careful glance at the clock noted a discrepancy of forty-five
He had a sneaking suspicion that she already knew what tonight was
about. And as the clock ticked, and his spirit glowed, his mind traced
conflicting thoughts. What if she knows, he pondered, and she decided not
to come. His hands grew tense and his palms began to sweat.
His heart ached for her embrace. He wanted to feel the softness of
her lips against his, the glimmer of love in her eyes, and the beauty
within her soul. He wanted to take her in his arms, take her in his life.
He wanted to take her hand, take her. And as he raced with thought, his
pacing was silenced and his spirit perked from a shallow rap on his front
That's it, He thought, forget about dinner, forget about a night of
romance. I'm going to tell her exactly how I feel about her.
He gave himself one final look over, and adjusted a slight tussle to
his hair. Once again, he wiped the sweat from his brow and hands. With
that he rushed over to the door. His heart pounded with his definitive
emotion. But he opened the door, and stood; and stared.
A tall man, in a blue and black uniform stood before him. The badge
on his chest seemed tarnished, despite its sheen. A condoling reluctance
was forged upon his face. "I'm afraid to tell you sir," The man
articulated, as the moonstruck boy, froze in fear. "There's been an