Microfiction: Ipomea


In the tangled growth of fleshy leaves and spiny stalks, sinking into the grey earth, the rag of bright blue flashes like a piece of sky shining through a hole torn in black storm clouds. So long since the world has been a slimy waste of corruption, dead and dying, stench and squalor, she has almost forgotten what a flower looks like. She peers through the brown putrefaction, takes a hesitant step off the buckled asphalt path. Wrinkling her nose, she pushes away the trailing stalks, shuffles into the clinging, sucking mud. In the instant before the darkness falls, the brilliant flash of the landmine explosion illuminates the flower, and her heart surges with joy at the heavenly blue.