This week's Sunday Scribblings prompt was not inspiring me personally, so I did what fiction writers do...I made someone up:
If I could stop time. If only that argument hadn’t taken place. If only, if only is my mantra. I wander the stinking city imagining that I didn’t drop that coin down the sewer grate. The only thing that was left to me of my grandfather, of his pathetic life. I meander with no destination, no direction. I cannot go home now, not after I was so stupid.
What was I thinking, taking that thing out of my pocket on a crowded city street? A foolish maneuver. A piece of bravado that I will pay for dearly. But I know the old man would have understood, might have done the same thing. I wanted the woman in the blond skirt at the bus stop to notice me. Ridiculous, really, considering there isn’t a chance in hell she would know that the coin was from 1842. Why would I think she would know that? What was I going to say to her?
“Look, this coin is worth a lot of money. My wife doesn’t appreciate me or my coin. She wants me to sell it. You wouldn’t make me sell it if you were my wife, would you?”
I walk and I imagine that moment all over again, the reach into my pocket, the rough cold metal against my fingertips. That is when time would stop, right there, and I would keep my hand in my pocket for that extra beat before passing that bus stop and the blond skirt by. If only.