Enskuritunin mín í samræmdu, nokkrum setningum bætt inní…









Oh, that day. That glourious day. The day she first met him. Anne's favourite memory….



Anne had showed up for auditions. Auditions for the, oh, so wonderful play Cinderella. While Anne waited her turn she started a conversation with the boy behind her in the line. It came as a pleasent surprise for her to find out that the boy was actually fun. Not to mention cute… But that's another story. Entirely. Or is it…?

When it was Anne's turn, he wished her good luck. She nearly fainted, but somehow managed to keep her cool. When she asked the director what to do, she was told to get on stage and read some lines with other people. She did that, and performed perfectly. At least she got a part… Cinderella's part even. The boy, who actually had a name even though he shall remain nameless for the rest of the story, did, sadly, not get a part.But instead he built some things that had to be built. Nice? Thought so…

Anne often spoke to him while he was building things that seriously had to be built and she was on a break. In fact, she almost got kicked out for taking too many pauses. Somehow she managed to stay in her role after a private meeting with the new director, a 23 year old stud.

At the premiere, everything went delightfully perfectly and the audience absolutely loved it. He was in the audience and took her to a rather expensive restaurant. She totally loved it…



Now he was gone. After sixty years of marriage, he had passed away. Anne smiled as she remembered the things they did in adolesence, and closed her eyes for the last time.





Stutt, enda átti þetta bara að vera 100 orð… varð aðeins meira.