S T O R Y N I N E:
My breathing was labored. We'd been walking for hours, but you didn't mind.
"It's beautiful," you said beside me, looking at the evergreens towering above us, their trunks covered in sap.
But I thought you were beautiful. The forest paled in comparison to you, bathed in the light of the sun, your brown eyes as energetic as ever.
That's all I remember from that day. And now I'm back, revelling in your energy that day.
But now the trees still live, and you're dead, and all I can think about is a time when you were still by my side.
YOU ARE READING
100 Word Stories
Short StoryFlash Fiction ● A form of fiction that "communicates via caesuras and crevices. There is no asking more, no premise of comprehensiveness, because flash fiction is a form that privileges excision over agglomeration."
