Fighting Fire With Fire - 15 (Epilogue)

Hello people.

We have come to the end of this story.

I hope you have enjoyed it & I hope I made reading it worthwhile.

I know the ending was rushed and I'm sorry, but what can i say - Exams suck.

Lena B - It KNOW it's totally cool to have a pen pal person out there. I'm always wondering what America is like and how different it is to England... & I have to give you three because I feel bad about the wait. The weather here is a cold wind with SUN! Actual SUN!

Janessa - That comment started like a story in itself! Ahaa - I hope I didn't get you in too much trouble. And thank YOU for reading! (By the way - I really love your name!

Ciriat - Thank you! You seriously are a really good commenter, you know that? You gimme the stuff a writer need to here to keep their ego inflated. Although I wouldn't mind if you told me that it was a pile of shrobubble either, as long as you commented with your wise words! And fyi, I totally had mad typing skills when I was two. I used to pretend to write books on my learn what animals are called! laptop. :L

MINIMAN - I totally know what you mean, girl. It was so rushed, it was like a.... rushing thing! As I said, not one of my best but it WAS written time ago so :D I am glad u enjoyed it. Hit me with some new story ideas, yeah? I am thinking of writing a racial differences love story but it's a risky thing to do. Whaddya think?

royalblue - Aaaaw, thank you! But you can always read my others and brighten up your life even more ;o)

Everyone else - Thank you so much for your lovely kind words! Enjoy the end of Fighting Fire With Fire.
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The park is almost deserted. An old man sits on a crumbling bench, fingerless gloves covering hands that are clutching at some stale bread left for the ducks. He wonders if it is still all right to eat, but has it anyway, stuffing the tough food into his mouth.

Crumbs litter his bristly whiskers as he takes another bite aggressively, ripping into the slice. Suddenly, he spies a movement across the field, and momentarily stops stuffing himself to watch the scene unfolding before him.

A young, incredibly handsome man walks down a path, hands stuffed deep into his pockets, his expression thoughtful and worried. He runs his hand through the dark crop of hair on his head and checks his watch - he seems to be waiting for someone. The tramp sat on the bench unfolds himself creakily to lean forward and take another look. The man is more than incredibly handsome, he thinks grudgingly. He was damn right beautiful.

The old man stares at him, taking in the well-tailored, expensive suit and leather briefcase, coming to the conclusion that the young man had just finished work. Envy shoots through him for the briefest second, but it is interrupted by the sight of an angel.
Suddenly, a girl has come bursting through the gate. She's wearing skinny jeans and a nice dress top; sophisticated and stylish at the same time. The old man used to have a daughter once, but the girl who had left him to the streets wasn't anything close to this radiant beauty. The old man almost smiles.

The young woman sees the young man at the same time that he spots her - and both break out into dazzling, wide grins. The old man observing smiles slightly; the young woman is amazingly beautiful, her dark hair tumbling down to almost her waist, her eyes large and emerald and liquid with love.

As he watches, both young, beautiful people laugh, and then the man opens up his arms, waiting for her. She breaks into a run and launches herself at him, wrapping her legs tight around his waist and burying her face in his neck. Happiness gives them a sweet radiance. He handles her as if she is as light as a feather, and then sets her down.

The old man with the fingerless gloves watches amusingly as the young man drops to one knee, surprising her. He sees the flash of diamond, the confusion and then the realization spreading on the woman's face. And then she nods, says something, and launches herself at the handsome young man again.

They turn, wrapped around each other in a graceful tangle of sun touched limbs, and walk towards him. Through force of habit, the old man asks for spare change. The young man, with a smile that better suited an angel, throws a note at him and the woman, kindness in her eyes, awards him with a beam. The old mans eyes widen as he unwraps the paper and sees the zeros.

Both are still laughing as they walk away, the woman even crying crystal tears through her happiness, and the old man watching smiles gently, shaking his head. He breaks off another piece of the duck's bread and stuffs it into his mouth, feeling the warmth of money in his pocket and happiness in the air.

Nothing interesting here, he thinks drily.

Just another routine happily ever after.