Thursday. No one around. So easy to steal the condemned mansion's treasures. White roses smothered the garden gazebo; so I climbed the vines to get the copper weathervane.
Without warning, the roof collapsed, and I tumbled into the hanging thicket. Cradled in the tangled vines and roses, countless thorns bloodied me.
Under the summer sun, my skin blistered and oozed. Insects swarmed. Mosquitoes. Flies. Maggots. Ants. Every movement brought barbed agony. Then the crows arrived.
The wrecking crew came on Tuesday.
"Damn shame tearing this beauty down. Look at them roses; you ever see such an incredible shade of red?"
YOU ARE READING
In a Flash
Short StoryA collection of flash fiction. A bit of everything, all told in less than one thousand words.
