Too impatient for the lift, he takes the stairs, the tail of his coat nips his heals as he swings his body around each corner railing between floors.
In his right hand he clasps a single flower. In his mind he clasps an image of her face. Honey eyes. Plush cheeks. Strawberry lips. He will tell her he loves her.
The rooftop door springs open and there she is staring back at him, waiting for him. Honey eyes. Plush cheeks. Strawberry lips.
“I love you,” he tells her as he places the single flower on the plaque beneath her photo.
The Literary Gangster 
Oh so sad : (
Ah, the perfect short story…. tension and a twist, leaves you wanting to know more. Great job TLG.
Delish!
Sad, yes indeed Rowan. But I would hate to ignore those unfortunate facts of life such as love and death. Oh so dramatic :0
Mmm thankyou Julian, all that I too love about a short story. This in fact is the very first short story I wrote! It’s I interesting to see how the tone, mood, genre, style etc has changed over the past almost 100, 100 word stories. Maybe I could graph it somehow!
Thanks Rowan and Julian for the comments 🙂
I too know the pain of placing flowers on the plaque of a lover. Flowers you wish could be received once more by warm hands and a strong embrace. Brought a tear, thank you.
Thankyou for your kind comment Janine. I am sorry to learn you have endured this sad experience before. In your words, this experience too calls to be approached with a strong embrace and a warm heart. Thankyou.