Piled plates and cups lay on the grimy metal with pools of water in each nook and cranny. Slowly, the water darkens and films. Tiny flies crawl and fly over the mountain, feasting and multiplying on the food remnants. On the floor beside it, a motionless hand reaches out eternally.
September 10, 2015
50 Word Short Story: Remnant
This entry was posted on Thursday, September 10th, 2015 at 6:55 pm and posted in Fiction, Short Stories. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.
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