Flash and Micro Fiction

Treads

Fresh snow falls with the twilight, blanketing the roads in a fine white powder, like powdered sugar on French toast. Breath hangs in the air in a fog that seems infinite yet only lasts for a few moments before disappearing. While footprints line the sidewalks and tire treads pave routes through the street.

Those are the memories of the cold winter’s night, etched in beauty and grace, even though they’re fleeting, and lost in an instant.

In honor of my one year anniversary, I’m bringing back some old stories, reimagined. Enjoy.

© Sarah Doughty

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