The following is my first attempt at writing flash fiction, a short ..short story that's wrapped up in a few paragraphs, I will post more on my thoughts for this process in my next post, but my intention with these stories is to get straight to the point.
I stood staring out the doorway, something I seemed to do a lot lately. It hadn't been that long since she left, but I could still remember the last thing I said to her. The night had turned cool but I still hung in the doorway. The breeze picking along the overgrown lawn, sending a cool chill up my arms. My hand held her faded old sweater and I lifted it towards my face.
Her scent was already fading from my mind as I inhaled the fabric. Soon I would lose even that. I peered over my shoulder at the darkened living room, picking out all the little things that she had taken, and desolate the fact that all the furniture was still there, the room felt so empty. When she left she took all the things that mattered, all the things that brought this house to life. Now it was just an empty shell, like me.
I tried to summon up those feelings again, even anger or sorrow, but all my tears ran out when she did. Instead I turned back to the inky blackness outside and stared ahead. I'd lost her love,her scent, and myself. All that was left was the waiting.
End of Line.