FirstLineFiction beta

from Contest #9

It was the thing he'd always loved about her.

She had always been willing to play the game with him. It was, in part, why he’d decided that he wanted to marry her. None of his other girlfriends had ever stuck to it. There were a few who had tried it once or twice, but they would always end up bored or decide it was silly or call him immature.

 Catherine, though, never did. From the moment they’d met, when she’d smiled at him widely from across the street, her red hair glowing beneath the streetlight, Matthew had had an inkling that she would be different. On their first date, when she’d told him that she had wanted to live on an island all her life, and that she once read the dictionary from start to finish in one afternoon, and that she would name her first born Lee because somehow it reminded her of the ocean, Matthew felt a warmness settle over him like a comforting hug. In one day Catherine had managed to settle her being into his bones and make her home there, and Matthew had never managed to shake himself free from her.

 And she took to the game like she had played it all her life. Matthew had, since his mother started the game when he was five, after his father left. The game had managed to lift his spirits, make him laugh ‘til he cried and even make him fall in love.

 The game was simple. Matthew would sneak up on Catherine, at times she least expected it, and whisper five short words into her ear.

 I dare you to move. They would both have to remain completely still, except for their eyes and mouths, until the other couldn’t take it anymore. The first one to move would have to do whatever the other asked; make breakfast, go to work without any underwear, write a love song.

 Matthew usually initiated the game when they were in bed, while Catherine was reading or watching TV. And even though Matthew always started the game, Catherine almost never lost. She was very good.

This morning, Matthew felt like he was walking in slow motion. He could hear his pulse beating in his ears, his breathing almost raspy. He peered down at Catherine; swallowed hard.

   “Caty,” he whispered to her as he lowered himself to her level, so that when she opened her eyes he would be the first thing she saw. “I dare you to move.” Matthew drew back from her ear, and watched her face. She didn’t bat an eyelid. He wished so hard that this time she would lose the game, and make him do something silly that would make them both laugh until their stomachs ached.

 But Catherine just laid still, her red hair stark against the white cushion of the coffin her mother had picked out for her, eyes closed, mouth in the faintest smile.

Something in Matthew broke. Slowly, softly, he began to cry.

 She had always been so good at this game. 

back to Contest #9