Spoiled Roses

Flash Fiction, a short story written in 100 words or less.

He leans against his bicycle, chest tight, throat burning and closing off as the hot burn of tears stings his eyes. He is fighting for composure.

She was supposed to say yes. Yes, yes, unequivocally yes.

His eyes focus on the roses, now strewn across the sidewalk smashed and spoiled, ugly. The ring burns a hole in his pocket.

He has heard before that the hardening of the heart is a gradual thing but that will not be his experience. He feels it growing cold in his chest even as the hot tears finally escape to stream down his face.

photo 5

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