Micro Fiction: Warm

I recently was reminded there was such a thing as micro-fiction, thanks to Nick Campanella — you should check out some of his, they are really good!

I am working on some stuff this week so thought I’d take it easy and do a micro-fiction today. Hope you enjoy!

 

Warm

The house smelled of her when I got home. I walked room to room, touching the framed pictures, her robe, her hairbrush. No one was here. It was dark now, but I went out again. The rain was getting worse. It was icy cold, cascading down my neck and back like a polar flood. The graveyard was only four blocks away but in that time, I felt like I had drowned twice over. I found her grave easily enough. I laid down on the dirt. It was warm. Underneath the thick scent of mud, I could smell her.

 

x P.L. McMillan

6 thoughts on “Micro Fiction: Warm

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