Flash Fiction Friday
This week’s flash fiction piece is ripped from the headlines. Sort of. Can you guess who the narrator is? I’m keeping to a 100 word limit this time as a warm-up for the writing contest Janet Reid announced today. Be sure to check that out!
Here’s today’s flash fiction:
People are supposed to see white when they die.
I saw white on the day of my birth.
Only now that Iām dying do I begin to see the world as it really is. Trees in their naked majesty, crusty brown arms reaching out and up to the sky. Bushes and hedges with spikey twigs and dark green leaves. Black paved roads and grey paved paths littered with candy wrappers and plastic bags.
The golden warm relentless sun.
There were no birds on my first day.
Now on my last they sing me to sleep as I dissolve to nothing.
Maybe I’m just morbid, but that last line made me think the narrator was being dissolved in a vat of acid by a serial killer. Which, by the way, a real serial killer did dispose of bodies that way.
Wow! I don’t doubt a serial killer really did do that. But no–I didn’t have anything quite so gruesome in mind (this time, anyway!). š Think about what’s been in the news this week. Especially for certain parts of the country… š
SNOW!!!!!
Well done–close enough. How about a snowman? š