Welcome to the blog hop! I can’t believe we are already a couple weeks into May. This week the talented A.S. Fenichel asks us to write a flash fiction, so if you missed what amazing Leslie Hachtel had to say then just click and pop back.
Flash Fiction – My favorite color is Yellow. Here’s the first line, you write the rest… Extra points if you use more words for yellow in the story. “Nothing more than a yellow house on the edge of town, but her emotions jumbled whenever she drove by.” The word count is up to you.
Nothing more than a yellow house on the edge of town, but her emotions jumbled whenever she drove by. The sun glinted off the perfectly clean windows. The house wasn’t just a plain yellow, no it was a beautiful lemon chiffon colour. The pale creaminess reminding her of the cake, and his sweet touch.
A curtain fluttered behind the clear glass. A face appeared in the window, then disappeared.
Evie’s heart beat faster as she pressed her foot harder onto the gas pedal. No, it couldn’t be. She shook her head, her strawberry blonde curls bouncing on her shoulders. She’d heard a rumuor that he’d returned. But that couldn’t be, he’d left when she was eighteen, taking her heart with him. He promised to return, but she hadn’t seen or heard from him in ten long years.
A sigh escaped her mouth as she pulled into her driveway. Evie glanced at her watch. Damn! She was late again. As she unlocked the door and ran upstairs a tingle skittered down her spine. Pausing on the stairs, she turned around and pulled open the curtain.
The trees swayed in the breeze and the water playfully splashed against the rocks, other than that, nothing.
Evie stomped upstairs in frustration, no one was there. Did she think he would be waiting for her on the doorstep? Why had he returned to her thoughts after all these years? She wrenched open her closet, searching for a dress. Red, black and purple greeted her. Not one bit of yellow. She’d rid herself of it all after he’d left.
Amber was going to kill her. She needed to focus. Now! Evie pulled a black cocktail dress of the hanger and wrenched it on. With a spritz of perfume and a swipe of lip gloss she was ready.
Evie shoved her feet into her heels and grabbed her keys. As she smoothed her hand down her hair one last time and stepped outside, the sun began its descent. Brilliant golds mixed with oranges and reds. Evie was blinded by the beauty and didn’t see the man until she stumbled into him.
Shock reverberated through her. “Damon?!”
“Hello, Evie,” he said in a deep baritone.
It couldn’t be. Yet, here standing in front of her was the man who’d stolen her heart all those years ago, holding out a rose the colour of lemon chiffon.
Well I enjoyed that! I wish I had longer to write, but alas I did not. Now continue on the hop and see what the incredible Brenda Margriet has written about yellow. Until next time!
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