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SanteBest friends. We’ve been best friends all our lives. She knows all of my doubts, my fears, my happiness. My husband.

‘Let’s drink to that, shall we?’ she says, happily raising her wineglass.

I raise my glass filled with a beautiful dark red liquid that sparkles in the light of the dying sun.

But I don’t drink. I never have. She should’ve known that, too.

 ‘Yes, let’s celebrate,’ I say, drily.

I watch as she presses the cold glass against her lips and her lipgloss leaves a smear. I wait… but she waves her glass in the air again. ‘To thirty years of friendship!’

Thirty years indeed.

‘You know, Tyler told me something a while ago…’ I say very slowly.

She doesn’t flinch.  ‘Good news? Bad news?’

I tell her.

She falls silent.

I bet she never thought he’d tell me of her strange proposal.


‘Enjoy your wine,’ I say as I leave. ‘I hope it doesn’t taste too bitter.’


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Posted to the Flash Fiction Friday website, using the photo prompt, credits: Wine Glass. CC2 photo by BlakJakDavy

In Translation


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