“No fair. You know this place like the back of your hand,” he complained.
“That’s true only if I’ve seen my hands thirteen times in my life, to be exact,” she retorted.
“You say you’ve planted a tree every time you climbed up here?”
“And today it’s your turn.”
For the first time, she hesitated. The cold voice in her ear pushed her and just as she had listened for the past thirteen times, she listened. She gasped as his body fell with a mundane finality. The cold voice steadied her while she planted the fourteenth tree in the grove and walked back.
“I thought I felt a connection with him. It felt a lot like love and not like the pain you shared. But that’s not enough reason for me to stop taking revenge on every man like you,” she screamed at the oldest tree.
Remorse hit her, clouded her eyes and flowed on her cheeks. The leaves rustled and she stumbled upon an overgrown root. The world went dark as she went down on the very steps that had brought her up.
Visit Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers Week (July 18, 2017 – July 24, 2017) – 184 words (from an original of 350+)
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