This is a flash fiction from no kidding 10 years ago. The challenge was the image and exactly 100 words.
I watch her mailbox from behind tinted windows and sunglasses. I don’t belong here. In the daylight. We joked about twilight years and grandchildren, but I’ve changed, never to be worthy of her again.
The road sign warns of dangerous curves, and she’d had them – forty years ago. Whether I come to torture myself with glimpses of her or in hopes my desire has faded, I can’t tell.
Then she appears, all sunshine and grace, and my desire stirs. My tongue runs over the sharp canines that ache for her blood and I remind myself she’s not for me anymore.