“I know not with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones” — Albert Einstein

Thursday, August 21, 2014

Flash Fiction


On the first warm night of the cool summer she wore the sarong she bought in Venice where everyone was beautiful. The fabric was soft as a sigh and brought back the surf that smelled like seaweed and the beach littered with what the ocean didn't need and the muscle volleyball game and the blackest man in America who mimed on the boardwalk. Candle wax from the last time she'd worn it had hardened in little droplets down the front. She could get it out with an iron and a piece of paper towel. But it would have to wait.

The rain came across the fields like wind through corn and what had to be done because he was gone overtook the carefree evening. She took off the sarong and hung it back in the closet, changed into jeans that fit and pulled on the tall rubber boots that didn't.

note: I was going to add one of my pictures but then decided I didn't need one. Couldn't find one that fit this little snippet of life. Couldn't find a picture of emotion, couldn't take a picture of the wind, only the effect it has on things. What am I trying to say?


Anthony Duce said...

You created all the images needed with your words.. Wonderful writing.

Yvonne Osborne said...

Thanks Tony. I always second guess myself.

Other Mary said...

That last sentence conveys volumes. Wonderfully done Yvonne!

Anne Gallagher said...

You don't need a picture. That flash had everything in it. Fabulous.

Make me jealous.

Yvonne Osborne said...

Thank you so much!!

Thank you!!