The Melonchollies

Pretty were they sitting there in slight and ill fitting linen dresses, like a garden of flowers, each was a pastel hue and the sent of the alcho pops and sticky mixers, leant them the fragrance of blooms.

Clouds of blue misted up above their heads as they sat and thought and dwelled on their own mortalities. Each sort to numb the pain and intensity of the world they found themselves within only to find the pain at the core of nothing. The blanket of smothering inability seemed to hunker down over them.

Sunk within they spoke slowly to each other.

‘You alright Tracy?’

‘Yeah Stacy, you?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Wanna get some fags?’

‘yeah.’

‘Com’on then.’

And they stood in elegancy and danced away to shorten their lives with cancer sticks and the fermented juice of the apple consumed in the small hours shivering in the majesty of The Park. But for now life was ok and another day would dawn for them.

Posted: Thursday, February 6th, 2014 @ 9:08 am
Categories: Flash Fiction.
Subscribe to the comments feed if you like. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

Leave a Reply