As I made a left turn, I noticed the bright shade of red upon the skin of the bench; the stand has the plain color of white to tame the luster of the tones. I asked my helper to paint it that way. I remembered red was your favorite color and white was mine.
I had nights where I could only stay awake, wondering where your mind was wandering. Did the metal fences suffocate you the same way the darkness you caused do?
The bench would always signify the lost love without revival—it was where you gunned our child.
Check out this week’s prompt at:
Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers
WORD COUNT: 100
Thank you for reading this story. If you want to talk about random things with me, do not hesitate to reach me through my “Contact” page. All the best love, my dear.