Flash fiction for a Saturday

A Fiction in 58.


Snowflakes fall like chunky confetti, silent, without fanfare.
Black boots crunch, timed with the fog of his exhales. He looks back, the tread of his soles aimless. He looks ahead, squints at the virgin snow, smiles.
He is at a crossroads in life. The walk bears out the truth.
She had said yes.
With arms raised, he celebrates.


alister said...

I say Yes! to this piece. All the words twine ‘round each other supporting the vision. At first chunky seemed incongruent but then it banded together with the things of him, and it grew fondly on me : )


quin browne said...

ah... well done.