I am so pleased to be featuring a flash fiction piece today, from a wonderful writer and previous contestant in one of my flash fiction contests. I have no doubts that you will love this story as much as I do.
"What the Leaves Won't Hold" (Part 7) by Leslie BrownI heard the thunder rumbling somewhere far away. I hadn't put much faith in the rains actually wetting the patches of dirt that dotted what used to be a lush and thriving garden. "What are we doing?" I wasn't sure if I said that out loud. I thought it had come out as a whisper, but it could have just been a loud thought. I said those words to myself so much I couldn't be sure anymore whether they came out.
"Life is too short." Was that your voice or mine? I knew you must be feeling the same cold rush of time blow past your face. How could you not? "We'll have her for less time now than we have had until this point." That was me. That one I couldn't keep in.
I walked outside to see how far away the dark clouds were. I could feel the temperature dip and the wind tousle my hair as the first drops fell. "It's a shame, not knowing what you should know in the first place. No one understands until it's over." You always made sense. A loud crack of thunder, a flash of lightning, and the skies opened. I thought the porch would keep us dry, but the rain poured in sideways soaking us both.
"When you're in it, you're not aware of everything sliding past you. You just laugh and go on like it will be that way forever. Then, one day you look at the faces of these people and realize they've changed. Everything is different and you've got nothing to show for the passing time."
A pause in the downpour effectively caused a lull in the conversation. It was the deep breath before the plunge.
"What are we doing?" It didn't matter who said it anymore. The fact that it was being said at all was enough.
The rain was all but gone now. It wasn’t enough to do much good for very long. My eyes burned as I watched your mouth form the words, but all I could hear were a few droplets the silver maple beside our house clung to as it reluctantly gave up and let them fall.
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Leslie M. Brown lives in Richmond, VA where she is a writer of both fiction and non-fiction. She is currently moonlighting as a mother of two, keeper of the peace, domestic engineer and ruler of a partnership. She loves both the beach and Chuck E. Cheese. In addition to her blog,
Letters to Punkin,Leslie is beginning her second blog on sustainable living, where she will divulge every facet of working with institutions of higher learning to create alternative energy sources on her fifty acres of land in rural Virginia.
