The heat had been oppressive and when Tanya walked into the office smelling of rain, I glanced out of the window in relief. Still dry and dusty!
'Why do you smell as though you've been in the rain?' I demanded.
Tanya smiled. 'It's my new perfume. It's called Petrichor.'
YOU ARE READING
Flash Fiction
Short StoryTwitter has a daily prompt using the hashtag #vss365. This thread will be for pulling those stories, plus other very short stories, into one place. There are a mixture of genres, the occasional sequence with repeated characters, and a mix of serious...
