Sweat made my clothes stick. I finally found him in the greenhouse.
“Need help?” he said… unsure.
I slogged through muddy thoughts; bath, dinner- produce still low; new fertiliser, new supplier?
He waited, annoyed.
“I’m fine,” I said, words too stuck. I left.
That night I dreamed of tangible thoughts, tendrils reaching, seeking connection. He welcomed them, and I saw myself through his eyes, but without anger, just-
Early next morning, he rolled over, “you finally tried that new neural-dreamware, how’d it go?”
“Uh, I-” I smirked, “love you too?”
He grinned, “never doubted it, muddiness and all.”
© 2021 Rebecca Glaessner
October 14: Flash Fiction Challenge « Carrot Ranch
In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story that embraces the mud. What is the mud, real or metaphor? How does it transform a character or place? What happens? Go where the prompt leads!
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