white daisy

Daisies on the Wall

We hadn’t talked for days. I don’t remember why; why you threw down the book you were reading, why I walked out. But the flowers I bought at Mr. Higgins corner store, I still see them plain as smog over the city. Daisies. White ones. The black center dark as midnight.
I stood outside our door, nervous as I was for our first date. I knocked even though I had a key. You were wearing the clogs you always wore. The clip-clop getting closer as my hands sweated. I looked straight at the peephole, tried not to blink. For a second, I didn’t think you’d open the door. Didn’t think that both of us liking punk rock and watching the original Star Trek meant we could make a go of it.
But you did. You opened it right up, gesturing me in with a little nod of your head. It’s about time––you said it as if you’d been waiting for me for a lifetime. The daisies lasted two weeks––we lasted a hell of a lot longer.

Postcard-sized flash fiction about the strangeness of life and found love and everything in between. And it all starts with an image...
  • Michelle Sampson

    I keep asking myself what kind of life you’ve led that keeps you exploring all these “places”. Another great vignette…

    June 7, 2018at8:36 pm

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