The rumbling of an engine, the squealing of tires. Thud.
Friday Flash Fiction |
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The ripples of rock poke into my leg, causing more discomfort the longer I sit. Waves crash hundreds of feet below me, beckoning. The sun retreats, wind chills my bones. “This is it. Nothing to do but…”. This isn’t right. There’s more to this than finding love. But what is there? My only purpose for living is gone, my spring of happiness dried up. “Fuck that”. Arising, the wind drags me towards the sea. I fight against it, back and across the road, my car parked on its far side.
The rumbling of an engine, the squealing of tires. Thud.
Swapan k Banerjee
23/10/2020 08:31:38 am
When despair gets its finest expression, as in this story, hope tends to spring from the proverbial ashes ...
Sue Clayton
24/10/2020 05:43:21 am
Fate took his destiny into its own hands. Probably a better ending than a dive off the rocks. Comments are closed.
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"Classic"
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