She was playing alone on a vibrant autumn afternoon beside the swing where she saw him last. He came from behind unnoticed. She grinned; he chuckled; both looked happy. She knew exactly why he had come to her. They strolled and lastly she said “I wish you were not dead”.
Here is my fifty-word story. Not five thousand, not five hundred, but precisely fifty words.
Image: (c) Theresa Wolfe