Flash Fiction Prompt #5 | May 2025

Tide was low, the sea strained under a bruised sky.

His map was marked only with a cross. The trail had narrowed, as though it didn’t want him back.

He recognised the clearing, tucked behind a slump of rock and trees.

Earth had settled, and the mound was long gone.

It was quiet here now. Not empty. Just quiet.

He didn’t say her name. He didn’t bring flowers.

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