Handful of Flowers

Thought I’d take another go at the Fifty, a form of writing I’ve come to like. (A Fifty is a one shot story or poem, or what-have-you, that consists of fifty words, for those who did not know.) Hope you enjoy.

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He walked, melancholy down the cracked grey sidewalks and empty streets, past bent and broken yield signs.

His eyes empty like that of a ghost, inside that tattered brown ensemble.

Walking as if he was invisible, and he was, to everyone but me. It was, the lily in his hand.

****