Is It My Imagination Playing Tricks On Me? Or Is it…?

“Don’t look at the pansies.” Nancy said it so matter-of-factly.

“What?” George glanced around. There were no pansies of any stretch of the imagination or definition anywhere in sight.

She smiled at him. “I love you.”

He always loved hearing those three words from her, but, at the moment, they sounded like a non-sequitur.  “Pansies?”

“What?”

“You told me ‘Don’t look at the pansies’.”

She frowned. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Forget it.”

She took his hand. “Are you okay?”

He looked down at their hands. Her hand – so soft and warm and natural. His hand – nothing but wires and hard metal.

Maybe that strange statement had been my imagination.

He nodded.

Maybe it was just a glitch.

I’ll have to do a program check when I get back home.

I hope it isn’t another computer virus. The last one nearly wiped me out.

“Don’t worry, Nancy. I’m okay.”

I hope.

 

December Writing Prompts

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