It's Sunday’s Whirligig time and the given words are coatless thinking kitchen envelope flag stars say touch slices roadside games and walk.
The kitchen is strewn with slices of toast, a smashed marmalade jar and a broken coffee mug. In the corner an envelope, a screwed up letter.
He was stupid thinking she could love him. But to end it with a scribbled note? To say nothing?
She was his reason for living. He flew his flag for her, stars sparkled at her touch. But it was just a game to her.
He steps outside into in the winter snow and walks dazed, barefoot and coatless along the roadside to the park they loved so much. Children merrily play, but he hears nothing but the sound of her laughter echoing in his head.
My original hundred-word story was inspired by the picture prompt at Friday Fictioneers.