Flash and Micro Fiction


Standing at the cusp of winter, with the scent of wood smoke and rotting leaves in the air, the whole world shudders around me in anticipation. Cracked pavement and chipped paint, combined with the cold and bright sun all grating against my skin, peeled me away in the frigid air.

By the time the sun set, I stood as a shell of my former self. Grieving all that we were, and all that we lost.

Frozen for all eternity.

© Sarah Doughty


4 thoughts on “Shell”

    1. H.D is one of my favorites. I remember discovering her poems in junior high and found how vivid those poems and stories were. She was one of my first inspirations and I always wanted to engage as much of the five senses as possible when I wrote. It felt more real to me that way. Thank you for the lovely comment.

      Liked by 1 person

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