“Spring’s on the horizon,” he whispers through the cool wind.

She shivers and wraps the knitted shawl tighter around her bare arms. “Do you see the light yet?” she asks tight-lipped, watching the children on the see-saw point and stare.

“So eager to get rid of me.” He smirks, and the wrinkles in his cheek disappear into the scenery behind him.

She shrugs and plucks a leaf from the shrub planted next to her. She crumbles it in her fist, opens her hand and lets the crisp brown pieces flutter to the ground like confetti.

“Everything’s dead.” She swings her foot into the dirt, kicking up dust.

“Not this.” He pats the bench on which they sit, and she can see the bright coat of red paint through his pale skin. “Not our love.” He beats his chest, and the hollow sound echoes through the park.

“Excuse me? I aim to feed the ducks.” A elderly woman carrying a loaf of bread sits in his place, and he evaporates around her curled body.

word count: 173


photo-20160208115053605Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers is a weekly challenge where you write a story in 75-175 using the provided photo prompt as inspiration. Click the froggy icon to read other stories inspired by the photo.

17 thoughts on “Whisperer

  1. No, I think he’s just a ghost or a memory, to her because he evaporates around her curled body and the old lady talks to her. Wish her memories were real. Great job Nortina.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Yes, he’s the ghost. She wants him to move on, but at the same time she doesn’t want to lose him either, so she sits with him on the park bench and tries her best to look normal ‘talking to herself.’ Lol.
      Thanks for reading!

      Liked by 1 person

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