The Curse - A Short Story By: Alan Mack

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Here I stand gazing upon your beauty.

My breath is taken away every time I see you.

I miss the feeling of my hands caressing you.


Remembering how it feels to hold your hand.

Running my hands through your hair.

I struggle now.......wanting to touch you......just so slightly.......ever so softly.


No, I cannot. I know what happens if I do. I do not want you to go. I want you to stay.

I do not know if I can bare you leaving again.


Ohh.....just a light touch, it has been so long.

Let's move slowly.....very slowly.

Almost there. Wait...remember....remember.


As if lightening has struck me,

I am overwhelmed......rivers of water flow down my face to the ground.


You are still here....can it be.....the Curse....gone?

No...no!!!


I watched in horror as her hand turns black.

I should not have touched her...there is no going back.

Quickly she crumbles; to dust she goes.

For all that I see....of my dearest love......is a pile of dust....all......because.....of......me.


Short Story By:

Alan Mack


Short Story Published By:

Eryn Dunbar


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