Flash Fiction: Fallen


A wind storm thrashed the leaves, creases down. Veins throb red inside yellow. Fall. Fallen. Who said a bed of leaves? You left me in Spring when buds stuck to the trees like unfurled love notes awaiting a green lover. Not me. The leaves are down and I’m ready to lie in them. All orange. Make my bed. I’m brown and curled at the edges.


4 Responses

  1. Very nice Carol – I see this as a poem, that’s how it feels to me.

  2. Very nice piece of writing, just started blogging and glad to find blogs like this
    Ivory Quill

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