The Odd (139 Words)
“I face odds well enough,” she said, “when they’re easy.”
“Ah,” said he. “And am I easy?”
“Are you odd?”
They glared at each other. It was a humored glare, the irritation and resistance mixed with a joining humor.
“What if I say you’re an odd worth facing?”
“What if I say,” he replied, “you’re a fairly even odd yourself?”
They laughed.
She sighed.
“If we are odd,” he said—hearing her sigh—, “are there odds we cannot face?”
“All odds are not created equal.”
“Then we are above them.” He gathered her hands.
She freed herself and pressed his fingers between her own.
“We are the odd,” she said with a half smile. “You are so odd.”
“Odd as a hundred and one.”
“As one can be.”
“As two.”
“Silly. That’s even.”
“And that’s what makes it odd.”
***
Written in response to Sheila Haddad’s beautiful photo print Two White Horses of Camargue. Check it out! Also written in response to the Daily Post’s Daily Prompt, although this may be the sole opposite of “narcissism.”
