another dusty bit of flash fiction from the archives…
Wooden Heart
I sat by the window while the bus ploughed its weary way through the winding streets. My reflection stared back at me, blending into the drab landscape of houses unspooling outside. Fat drops of rain trickled down the dirty glass in thin, windblown rivers. The smell of damp clothes and stale food clung to the seats, adding their aroma to the warm air inside.
A sudden flash of colour caught my eye – standing out in contrast to the wet, grey pavement. I saw a clutch of wilting, bedraggled flowers beside a simple wooden heart – a silent reminder of a place where a life was stopped short in the screech of brakes and the crunch of bones against metal.
The rain had long since washed away the vulgar traces of blood leaving only those few faded flowers behind, decaying tokens of affection.
I looked away, feeling guilty for staring at this public display of private grief.
Outside, the rain kept falling.
