Micro-fiction, October, 2021.
NYC Midnight 250-word Micro-fiction Challenge Semi-Finalist.

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I take the sea into my lungs, salt heavy on my tongue. The waves upon the market’s shore roll in lazily, unbothered and unintimidated by those bustling nearby. Above, the breeze sings as it carries fish and berry wine perfume up towards Vesuvio. For a moment, I shield my eyes against the sun to admire mother muntagna.

“Aldalgisa!”

A child’s cry finds me before something taps my ankle. I peer at a ball, muddied from a journey gone awry.

“Pass that here!”

Tiny footsteps approach like a pattering storm. I hurry to kick the ball with the edge of my foot.

“Be careful not to lose it!”

I smile, knowing they won’t be careful at all. No child should be until they’re hopelessly grown. That’s what Marco tells me when we discuss the children we’ll have. I laugh when I remind him my father won’t approve.

“You’re too childish yourself,” I’d grinned, “How will you provide for me? Protect me?”

“Protect you?” Marco arched his dark brow, “When has my dear Aldalgisa ever needed protecting?”

Beyond the market, I find Marco in his garden. He’s dripping wet with the morning’s labor, broad shoulders tense and glistening. I am slow to press my palms to him, my lips following suit. We leave the garden together before the sky turns sickly and the wind stop singing.

Childish and uncareful, we mistake the ash for winter rain. Yet, as it buries us in Marco’s bed, we are never stolen from our dreaming.