Ficlets

Bitter sadness.

A girl sat fiddling with a piece of grass. Her hair lined with flowers. But little did she now God was measuring the hours. The hours went by, then days, then years. Until Her time was done. Without her the grass would die, for growing without her is not fun. And there lay a wilted flower, sad that her friend was gone. For the flower is nothing with out the girls hair to gently lay upon.

View this story's 2 comments.