Ficlets

Ewan leaned back against the steps and stared up at the clouds as they whipped by at an unusually high speed. Not the stately progress of white, fresh, cotton puff clouds, but more the barreling by of hard, grey, steel wool clouds that almost always heralded rain.

He took a long drag on his cigarette, savouring the acrid sweetness of the smoke; it was giving him everything that he had expected and needed of it. The night had been long and filled with circular internal discussions about his situation and the choices that he had made, but now in the dim morning light, looking up into the foreboding sky and down into the sleepy valley below he finally felt a moment’s peace.

There was nothing he could do to change the situation, there was going to be no way to resolve it himself. All he could do was take his hand off the brake and freewheel down the hill towards his destiny; let the chips fall where they may. She would either come to love him, or she would not but one thing was clear; it was not his to control.