Once, flowers had been a regular part of her life. For over fifty years, Harry had brought some on the way home every few days. He'd bought her the vase, too.
It was harder to buy flowers for oneself, she thought, wiping a tear from her eye.
Friday Flash Fiction |
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Irene loved daffodils: a sign of spring, a sign of hope. Carefully, she arranged them in a glass Dartington glass vase designed specifically for the job, then half-filled it. She added some sugar, a trick she'd learned from her mother decades previously, then placed them on a table near the living room window.
Once, flowers had been a regular part of her life. For over fifty years, Harry had brought some on the way home every few days. He'd bought her the vase, too. It was harder to buy flowers for oneself, she thought, wiping a tear from her eye.
Lisa Miller
1/3/2019 04:24:23 am
You have me thinking with the last line. I think I'll go buy me some flowers (maybe even expensive ones) now. I only get them when we fight. Nice story.
RAYMOND SLOAN
1/3/2019 02:18:25 pm
Liked that
Don Tassone
3/3/2019 11:28:00 am
Powerful and poignant. Comments are closed.
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"Classic"
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