Picking Flowers: Flash Fiction

I pulled the flower from the garbage while the man I love and I were organizing the house. It was a small, wilted flower that we picked several days ago. It had been thrown away. I displayed the flower to the man I love and he stated, “Oh. Where did you get it?” Then, I answered him. He placed the flower on the counter and then went across the hall way and proceeded to organize. While I watched him walk away I recalled what had occurred, three days previous, that clarified how the flower had ended inside the garbage.

We had taken our normal walk and discussed many subjects of life. We celebrated all the good things, entangled our hands together, and picked the flower. We expected we would make love, but emotions crazed and we had argued while walking home. We had not expected such a dispute. We both became madly passionate. I told some very unkind things to the man I love. He frowned at me in bed and I got out and slumped to the bathroom. I glanced at the floor and sat down. I wanted to sprawl my body on the floor and then put my arms across my eyes, but noticed the damp rug on the floor and it was in the way. I felt empty. I had ruined everything. I grabbed the flower and tossed it. I hung my head and cried. He came in. I saw the look on the face of the man I loved. He looked at the tears I had cried on my cheeks and wiped them away and smiled. “Come here.” Then we walked to our bed. He pulled back the covers, took my clothing off, then his. We made love.

I looked down at the small, wilted flower on the counter that the man I love had set down. I thought he had not remembered what happened. Then he came in and took the flower. He tucked it behind my ear and walked us back to our bed. We made love again.

Written By JR Lindsey

No comments:

Post a Comment