New flowers lay by the vase that held wilted predecessors. They, so fresh and vibrant, would fade as well.
Her love, like the flowers, bold and beautiful, faded away.
She the flower; he the soil. Each a part to play. Each needing the other, then no more. Another passed, plucked her up.
Oh, for an unfaded flower. An undiminished love.
He turned the bottle up, made bubbles in the amber. The old revolver’s chamber spun. He slammed it home and squeezed the trigger.
Not sure how to feel about coming in under the word limit. That’s the opposite of my normal issue! I was afraid that more words would ruin what was there though. Hope it works.
#FridayFictioneers is a weekly blog link up hosted by Rochelle over at RochelleWisoff.com. You should totally check it out and perhaps try your hand at writing a 100 word story.