Mist of Death

Day 245

Death scraped sunshine off the sky. Any birds flying past crumbled, lifeless, to the lush grass. Petite flowers bloomed on the emerald fields, yellows stars bright as drops of sunlight. The invisible current rolled onward; a trio of flowers shriveled up, falling on the corpse of a swallow that had gotten in the way.


Written: 16 June 2016

Words: 54 

Inspired: weather + my feelings + what I’ve read + what I’m revising 

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