I met him in the Nineteenth Hole, a rather sticky bar at the end of the course. He was a flash of colour in a black and white photograph, and his smile across the fake wood and drippy metal had twisted my heart like a dishrag.
Love and golf became who we were, playing every spare moment, encouraging each other on.
My birthday that year had been unseasonably warm. Muggy, even. He drove to pick me up early in the morning, acting like an excited puppy. Something was in the air, crackling between us.
‘One quick round?’ he’d asked, all eyes and teeth. I nodded. It was the perfect day, even though the clouds in the east looked heavy and dark.
We got lost in the game. The place was deserted, and at the tenth hole, he got down on one knee.
‘Oh, my gosh!’ I stammered. The diamond sparkled in the gloom.
Suddenly, a huge rumble from above made us stare up in shock. A thunderstorm?
‘Shit!’ he said. I glanced at him, anxiously.
‘We’re right in the open,’ he said. ‘If lightning strikes…’
Rain began to pepper us. I looked at my ring again, twinkling like a star on my hand.
‘I love you!’ I said, and he smiled at me. Then the sky above us trembled and our hair stood up with static.
We grabbed each other, as the lightning cracked down.
With an immense flash and a roar that seemed to split my skull in half, white light burned us. I clutched him as my blood boiled, and the diamond melted.
Carolyn Ward is a mum of three and writes short stories, flash fiction and is working on her first teen novel. She lives in Wolverhampton, UK, and reads anything and everything. Follow her @Viking_Ma for writing updates and random nonsense.