V’s sitting on the sidewalk in the sun, headphones and cut-offs, and she smiles at you, cigarette in one hand and a big paintbrush in the other, dripping yellow.
“It’s a warning,” you say.
She lifts it to the door of the sky blue bug and pulls out petals, stretching glorious to the handle, the wheel well, and the broken mirror from a perfect oval of shiny black seeds with a tiny white dot on each one and a ladybug the size of your fist right where he took the baseball bat to it.
“No,” she says. “It’s a flower.”
---
'The Sunflower' was previously published on A Story in 100 Words on 3 December 2019.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2026 FlashFlood: The Complete List
In case you missed any of the pieces we appeared during the 2026 FlashFlood, here's an index to everything. Sadly, the 'Blog Archiv...
-
Nobody understood this could be a thing, until they saw jumpers at a certain height, five hundred eleven feet, tumble upward. Unlike faller...
-
I’m not lover of art. I don’t know how to react to a splurge of colours on canvas. Or appreciate fine brush strokes on paper. And yet, this...
-
I’m sick of being good, of being straight, of being staid and serious. I want to be trashy, have lots of sex with unsuitable men, get d...
No comments:
Post a Comment