Pale Pink Walls and White Furniture
a short story by
F. R. Michaels
Copyright 2013 by F. R. Michaels
I awake to a dream of a poisonous flower breaking through arid soil and blooming in an airless void. I am that flower, dead and desiccated and yet my existence is persistent. The image lives for a measure in time smaller than a breath, and then vanishes.