Five Sentence Fiction – Harvest

I used to love the rain, memories of sitting on the front porch swing with her in my arms, her head on my shoulder as we watched Mother Nature’s wrath. The smell of strawberries in her hair, her favorite scent and it quickly became mine; it was more intoxicating than the smell of the fresh rain. It was with the rain they came, dark metallic ships cutting through the clouds like lighting, bringing horrors down upon us. We were foolish to think we were alone in the universe, so many planets, too much undiscovered. I still smell the strawberries when it rains even though it has been far too long since I’ve seen her, knowing she may be out there keeps me going, surviving, fighting, each time they come to harvest.

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5 thoughts on “Five Sentence Fiction – Harvest”

So evocative…I can smell strawberries now!

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I like the counterpoint of the gentle sadness and nostalgia of the beginning against the chill and violence of those last two sentences. Nice job, Stephen!

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And sorry about the “ph” in your name–I know you're Steven!

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S-t-e-v-e-n :)) You excel at writing of the pain that comes from losing your heart. I always look forward to seeing what twist you've given to love. You've done a great job here again of pulling a pastoral moment into steampunk.

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