Hawthorn & Ash #34

Welcome to this week’s installment of many micro stories, ranging in length from 100 words to 500 words.

With each story we hope to deliver a little whimsy into the lives of our readers.

SHE SMELLED LIKE ROSES

In the morning, she smelled like roses in an open field. Lying there in the short grass, her hair around her head like a halo. Her eyes faced the blue sky with its white cotton clouds floating by lazily.

Somewhere a blue bird chirped; another one responded, carrying on a conversation only they knew. A snake slithered by off to her right and was gone seconds later. A butterfly landed on a blade of grass near her head, then flitted away.

A breeze blew through trees off in the distance, ruffling leaves and branches and blue bird feathers. A wolf howled, a lonesome sound that echoed in the air.

And she laid quiet and still, one hand on her stomach, the other off to the side, her legs straight out. Her feet were bare, and her toenails were covered with chipped pink polish.

At noon, she smelled like roses in an open field. The sun hung in the sky, a bright yellow ball heating an otherwise cold world. By evening, her skin would be a dark red. A bird—not a blue bird, but a big crow—landed near her, stared at her with its dark eyes, gave a caw, then flew away.

A bug traipsed across the hand on her stomach. Another one skittered across her face and over her once pretty lips. Ants marched toward her, through grass the size of trees for them. The wolf approached silently; the blue birds conversation ended with a squawk and flew away. The wolf sniffed the air but turned away when more birds—much larger than the crow—flew above it, then landed just feet from her.

The sun descended and day turned to night. The moon took its place. She no longer smelled like roses in an open field. The vultures moved in.

If you enjoyed this drabble you can find it and more in the Hawthorn & Ash 2023 anthology.

AVAILABLE HERE!