There she was. Middlemist. A solitary beacon of hope, blooming defiantly in a desolate wasteland.
People travelled for miles to witness this only splash of colour rebel against a monochrome tapestry of soulless oppression. Majestic expression. The last flower.
On the day the sun stopped shining, a congregation gathered in silence around her delicate red petals and bowed their heads in honour of her intricate beauty in the dwindling golden light.
YOU ARE READING
Middlemist
Short StoryThe last flower. The last hope. As the exhausted planet's heartbeat slows and the sun sets for the last time, a small crowd gathers to say goodbye.
