We went to the beach with a handful of sparkler fireworks, had so much fun that the sparklers and time vanished like a flash, and promised that we would come back every year to celebrate together.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t go this year,” I look at her smooth face holding her inert hand while she lies unresponsive on a bed, and roars of the machines which pump life into her battered body silence my words.

When, at last, she opens her eyes and looks at me, I see the sparkle as bright as the fireworks from that day – dazzling and radiant, then it fades, and the flame is gone forever.

photo by Zara Walker via Unsplash

For Three Line Tales, Week Forty-Eight


13 thoughts on “sparkles

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