Flower
The creased blue bedspread reeked of sweat The wilted flower in the beige vase drooped dead. Last night, when he purchased it from the little peddler the flower was way beyond doom. Running his hands over the few sickly pollen that hung on defiantly he wondered if it would last the journey to the house? By the time he reached the house a few petals had fallen by the wayside the fleeting breaths of a dying soul. He rang the bell. There was no answer He rang it again. He could hear unsteady feet walk towards the door. It was a minute or two before she opened it. Come in, she said, half happy, half reluctant. This after all was sin. Look whom I got, he said, flourishing the half wilted life. Oh, its gorgeous she smiled, let me get it a vase. That night as they made fervent love the flower looked on from its perch in the vase. Clawing, gasping, pounding and thrusting they clamoured for a bit more of the other. Too wretched with being lonely, they devoured each other with an animal ferocity...