The drought lasted over a decade. Scientists predicted this was our new reality. We did it to ourselves; our grandparents’ generation hadn’t heeded the warnings. Only the strongest survived. Somehow, Daniel and I made it through, although not without great costs.
“Susan, don’t look back. We must look forward,” Daniel told me when he caught me looking through my box of dried rose petals, a reminder of the life we left behind.
“Actually, I was thinking of using these petals in our ceremony tomorrow.”
Daniel’s face lit up.
“To new beginnings,” he said as he rubbed my rounded belly.
This flash fiction piece was written for the Carrot Ranch Flash Fiction Challenge.
April 8, 2015 prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a renewal story that proclaims, “This isn’t the end; I will go on.” Think of the mythical phoenix that rises up from the ashes; of Cinderella after midnight on the night of the ball; of a hero that faces certain death; of love after tragedy; of renewing life’s lemonade transitions. Go where the prompt leads and own your story; the ones you’ve lived and the ones you imagine for fiction. Stand in solidarity with others to find the semicolons in life that chooses to nurture and not succumb.
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