Microflash – Marking Time

In looking for a way to provide content on the local creative writing group’s Facebook page, I toyed with the idea of posting our monthly flash pieces. It would serve a few purposes: highlight great stories, highlight lovely people, and blow away the cobwebs forming in the corners of the page. But 500 words, while not a lot, is a pretty big wall of text for a Facebook post.

So, I decided on a test run of microflash pieces. Tiny stories of only 100 words – long enough to present the bones of a story but short enough to post in the comments. The first went up today and we’ll see how well it takes off. I thought I’d post mine here because computers are tricksy things and I don’t want to lose my writings. Also, if I have to suffer, so does everyone else!

If you want to play along, post your response in the comments below, on my Facebook page, or your own space and link back. It really is challenging, and challenges can be fun.

The prompt is, of course, the picture above – A prominent tulip followed by rows and rows of tulips, taken by me at Roozengarde, Mt. Vernon, WA

Marking Time

93/100 Words

How do you measure the passage of time? By the turning of the seasons? The rising of the sun and moon? The ticking of a clock? I tried those things, once. Back at the beginning. Back when I believed everything which has a beginning must have an end.

I started planting the flowers after the anger and the tears settled into resignation, when I knew I’d die in this beautiful prison. Just one each day, my way to mark the time.

I haven’t counted them, but there can’t be that many.

Can there?

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Author: Elaina Roberts

Author of urban fantasy with a dash of romance

3 thoughts on “Microflash – Marking Time”

  1. The Ball – 95/100

    Mauveine is the color of my dreams.

    The expanse of bright tulips before me brings it all flooding back. The glitter of gems in the candlelight. The whisper of silk as dancers move about the floor in gowns of gleaming yellows, blues, and greens that all become mauveine in memory. The lively music of the minstrels, the hum of conversation, the sudden piercing screams. The world dissolves in a sea of crimson red on mauveine silk.

    Blinking back the memory, I reach down to pick one of the flowers. His hand grasps it before mine.

    Liked by 1 person

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