The Old Mill

After my night at the café, I wake later than usual. I walk down to the river to clear my head. The sun is hidden behind the clouds. I look down at the water. In the tender gray, I swim undisturbed by fish or birds. It’s a brief respite. If only life could always be this peaceful.

I return to the house to get ready for my meeting with Marie at the old Mill. She asked if I remembered. How could I forget any of it?

As I approach the mill, I feel again as if I’m caught in the past, like grain between those old millstones, powerless to control what comes next. I pace around the structure, glancing at my watch repeatedly. It’s not like Marie to be late. At the sound of footsteps, I look up.

It’s not Marie.

A continuation of my Prosery spy series for dVerse. The prompt line was
“In the tender gray, I swim undisturbed” from the poem Sullivan County by Celia Dropkin.
Here is the link to my previous Prosery chapter.