The wind was unusually cold that night. But Rita did not mind. She liked sitting on the low bridge, with her feet touching the surface of the water. It felt like she was dipping her feet in a pool of black ink. It was quiet and serene, except for the croaking of frogs and the occasional hoots of owls.
The curtain of clouds hid the moon. She waited. She had to see it.
Gradually, the clouds parted and the moon revealed itself, like a coy woman emerging
from her veil. Rita soaked in the grandeur of the night.
from her veil. Rita soaked in the grandeur of the night.
It seemed like the most beautiful night of her life.
She did not realise when her vision started to blur; or when she started to feel dizzy.
The blood was still flowing from her slashed wrist when she fell into the stillness of the lake.
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She did not realise when her vision started to blur; or when she started to feel dizzy.
The blood was still flowing from her slashed wrist when she fell into the stillness of the lake.
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P.S. This is my first attempt at a genre called 'flash fiction'.
What exactly is flash fiction ? Well, that in itself, is a very debated topic. Also called microfiction, sudden fiction, micro-story and postcard fiction, it is characterised by extreme brevity. The average flash fiction will be less than 400 words, with some exceptions that reach as much as 750 words. The form is strictly prose.
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Thought for the day: "Death is more universal than life; everyone dies but not everyone lives."
