Daily Writing Prompt

Before Angie learnt the inescapable, brutal truth, there was always a song playing in her head. That fateful night, as she drove towards Dick’s office she hummed Louis Armstrong’s, ‘What a wonderful world’. Glancing at the picnic basket with the top of the wine bottle peeping out under the wicker cover, she tried to quell the butterflies dancing in her tummy. The basket sat on the tartan blanket and was strapped securely with the seat belt on the passenger side.

‘Trees of green, Red Roses … Skies of blue … Clouds of white’, she sang offkey. Dick’s cold, corporate office may not be the ideal venue; a colourful park like the one in the song would have been better for the impromptu picnic she was going to surprise him with. His car looked lonesome in the car park in the shadow of the street light. Her manicured fingers tapped on the cold, silver elevator rail in tune to the canned music playing.