A little while ago, I was doing my usual (and occasionally creepy) thing of people-watching, and I began to create stories in my mind. After a little while, I decided to write these ideas down in short snippets of narrative which are written in a lovely book I'll treasure for a very long time. I've decided to call them Snapshots as that's all they are - tiny looks into the lives of people behind closed doors. So, without more of me rambling on, here are some Snapshots...

I

She lived for moments like this, when the sun would break through the curtains and the room filled with glorious golden light. Shifting from his embrace, carefully so she did not wake him, she would wrap herself in a blanket and position herself on the window seat. From there she could memorize his features; a long nose, square jaw, messy hair. She knew that if she forget her own name, even forgot how to breathe, she would still remember his face and how peaceful he looked in the sunlight.
Time would pass quickly, an hour in the blink of an eye, and he would stir. It was the same each day. A heavy sigh and a soft groan. His body would arch and contract as he stretched and his arm would feel around for her warmth beside him. When he noticed her absence, his brow would crease, two tiny lines forming a frown, and his eyes would finally open. They narrowed to a squint instantly, blocking the bright light, but she could still catch a peek of blue between his lashes.
He greeted her with a hoarse voice, reaching out to her in a wordless request. She would always comply. Her blanket would pool at her feet and she would return to the warmth of the bed, the safety of his grasp. He fumbled around in the drawer beside his bed for his addiction. The smell of tobacco soon filled the room, smoke curling in the air. The third cigarette would be lit before they realised and they resist a fourth.
The final butt is stubbed out and he throws off the sheets and kisses her forehead once. She stays in the bed, pulling the blankets tighter around her body to retain some heat. He would dress quickly and leave without another word, their morning dance fading into routine.

II

It’s the same each Wednesday, rain or shine.
As he comes around the hairpin turn, the first bead of sweat begins to trickle down his brow and she somehow materialises beside him. They run steadily, feet slapping against the pavement in time with one another. Her hair bounces with each step, dark brown ponytail bobbing gently. Occasionally her hair will fall in her face and she will tuck it behind her ear carelessly, giving him a breathless smile.
He ignores the wedding band on his finger for just fifteen minutes a week, though he would never reach out and tuck the hair behind her ear of his own accord. But still, it’s nice to lose himself in the fantasies every now and then.
She turns off first, taking a right onto a dirt path, and he continues ahead. He wonders if she wants him to follow and on occasion his steps falter and begin to wane before commonsense gets the better of him. Giving into his desires which would never amount to anything would result in the destruction of everything he had worked so hard to attain, the world that awaits him when he turns up the footpath to his home.
His wife is waiting for him, like she is everyday, and he wonders what it would be like if she had dark brown hair and a heart-stopping smile.
She pours him coffee and he reads the paper, his mind lost in the same way it is every Wednesday. She never suspects a thing, not that there is much to suspect, and pours more coffee, gossips more about the neighbours.
He runs the same route each day, the same hairpin turn each time, but only on Wednesdays does the world seem a little bit brighter, rain or shine.

III

Flashes of colour light up the sky and he smiles as she stares at them in childlike wonder. Her face, round and pale, illuminated with each burst of light. There is no amount of loud noise or bright colours which could convince him to turn away. She looks to him occasionally, pointing to a particularly bright firework with wide, shining eyes. He nods and watches her smile widen.
This is something he never felt before and he wonders if he should be concerned. It’s fluttering of his stomach and unexplainable sweatiness of his hands. It’s a soaring happiness and tripping over his words. He doesn’t understand. Parts of him don’t want to.
The lights and bangs begin to fade, children stop squealing with delight, and her smile begins to lessen. She turns to him, her eyes, brilliantly green in any other light, are sparkling. He brushes the hair out of her eyes and even in the dim light he can see her face darken with blush.
She is beautiful, and that is all he is certain of.
They fall into an easy walk together, hands clasped loosely, picnic rug tucked beneath his arm. He helps her over the curb, catches her when she stumbles in a ditch. They walk through darkened suburbia, along the streets lined with sycamore trees until they reach her house, identical to the last twenty they have passed.
Her hand drops from his and her pretty little lips turn downwards. Hooking a finger beneath her chin, he lifts her head to face him. They both know this night, a few stolen hours between them, is over, and though he will see her in the morning, his heart already aches at the thought of her absence.
He kisses her softly, lights flashing behind both their eyes, brighter than the lights that had filled their night.

I read all three part. Very good work. Very good. Keep it up. U have a better future in writing work.

These are absolutely wonderful! I really enjoy reading other people's collective thoughts. Perfect title by the way Your tone is very romantic, bright and positive. Thank you for sharing your talented pieces. I hope you add more.

These are great! ^^^ Everything was said for me .

Love it! :lovestruc