Permafrost

yellow wildflowers

In the spring, when the days grow longer and the reawakening sun melts away the bitter cold of winter, yellow poppies bloom. There, at the junction where the tree line of an ancient stand of long needle pines form a fertile triangle with the sandy marsh trail and the bayou shore, is where I buried you in the hard, frozen ground. The swath of wildflowers hide where I mutilated the earth to break through the ice, covering you with a bouquet of color as bright as your smile.

The Trifextra weekend challenge is: “write a story in only three sentences.”

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26 replies »

  1. As everyone else, I loved the word mutilated..it told the whole story in it’s own way.
    But I also love the word Junction used the way you do, that crossroads, that “place’ as if he can see the place and the yellow flowers that grow over all the ugliness he made.

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  2. Lovely, simply lovely but, at the same time, not at all! To do that takes some doing. Well done, Tara!

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  3. The use of the word “mutilated” was perfect here-it definitely conveys an undertone of dark under the bright boquet. Excellent!

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    • Thank you! I was very specific with that word – mutilated. I was trying to show a sort of frenzied madness in hacking at the hard dirt to dig this grave.

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