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by Bill Kirton
Originally published by on 02/02/2016

He’d ordered champagne.

‘Blah, blah, blah,’ he said.

In her mind, a stalagmite lifted from a dark pool, infinitesimally slowly, enticed by the stalactite above it.

‘Blah, blah, blah,’ he continued, his voice soft, low, serious.

In the darkness, the two formations reached for one another, seeking to become one, to fuse their separate selves into…

She stopped. Something was wrong.

‘What?’ she said.

‘Blah, blah, blah,’ he replied.

‘No, what did you say,’ she insisted. ‘All of it.’

‘I said blah, blah, blah. Will you marry me?’

The stalagmite crumbled.

‘Of course not,’ she said. ‘What a stupid question.’

Bill Kirton Merits

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