Summer by Taylor Maye Morrison

Flash Fiction by Taylor Maye Morrison

The wind pushed her brown locks across her china doll face. Tiny freckles splashed across her skin in a frantic pattern, burning permanent color on her cheeks. She smiles; I loved her smile. Pearly whites lined with braces aged her backward in time.

The gold and yellow flowers swayed lovely in the breeze, dancing for my beautiful love.

Even as the unforgiving sun beamed down upon us, she couldn’t have been happier. She loved her garden; she loved nature, she…just…loved.

Like a wake-up call, she was gone. No more garden, no more freckles, no more china doll beauty, no more her.

I held her in my heart for many years after her death. It lingered in my mind, ate at my soul, scratched at my insides until I screamed. I screamed my pain away; I screamed till the demons burned my throat and silenced me. I couldn’t understand. I couldn’t even fathom a real reason for her death. It happened so fast.

She was there…the car was there; she was gone…an empty shell in her place. But I try to hold onto her face, smiling, happy in her garden, that beautiful summer evening.


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