Flash Fiction – Dead Buds
I lean back on the worn wooden bench, ignoring the splinters that claw at my back like ragged nails on tender flesh. The dying rays of the sun force their way through my closed eyelids, creating kaleidoscopic patterns that shift and swirl as the sun dips below the horizon.
The warmth soon turns to chill, and I open my eyes to look down upon the grave of my mother. The flowers, once vibrant and bold, now look grey and worn, shedding dead petals on the plot, returning to the Earth that once gave them life.
I watch for a moment as the flowers seem to wither before my eyes before brushing them aside and placing a fresh bouquet destined to repeat the awful circle of life.