Easter Dresses

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Just a short piece of flash fiction from class last year.

 

I'm in that old warehouse we used to go to. You remember that, don't you? The one just off the highway, hidden behind the long grass? The sun is lower than it was then, but the thin shafts of light across the floor remind me of the last time we were here. Remember how we danced in them, as our screams of delight danced across the wide, open space? How young we must have seemed in our pale Easter dresses that mom bought, so we said that we hated them, before running off to revel in their glory. I'm not dancing now. Just sitting in some old chair I found sagging against a wall, covered in dust. It's probably bad for me, all the old particles in the air, but they're pretty if you don't focus. I suppose that's true about anything, even these drab gray walls. I wish you were here, which sounds weird, seeing that the last words I said were the opposite, but I really do. Mom's been strange since you left. More unhinged, which is saying something. I know left is the wrong word, but it's easier. Everything else is so final, and I really don't want this to be final, though it is. I think I might just stay here a while. It's nice. If I don't focus, I can almost see two little girls running wild in pink and blue dresses.


Submitted: October 29, 2019

© Copyright 2022 Rosalie Fay. All rights reserved.

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Comments

hullabaloo22

Oh, this is so melancholy, but beautiful in its own way too, with those floating pieces of the past. Very well written.

Tue, October 29th, 2019 8:50pm

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