The Rose

I thought I would try my hand at some flash fiction. Picture from pixabay.

Dan looked down at the crushed, dew kissed, red rose on the footpath. He knelt down, picked it up, and placed it gently in one of the many bunches of colourful flowers on the lamppost that signified the well-wishers in the community honouring his brother. He stepped back, tears glistening in the early morning sun like diamonds.

Dans brother had been cycling to school the previous day on his brand-new bicycle,  when his shoelace got caught in one of the spokes of the front wheel throwing him into the oncoming lorry, breaking his neck, killing him instantaneously.

Dan wiped his tears with the sleeve of his jumper when, in his mind’s eye, he could see his brother, who had just turned ten, embark on his short journey to school by himself for the first time. He saw him kiss his mother goodbye, excited to take his new BMX for a spin.

As Dan’s eyes fell upon a teddy bear at the base of the lamppost, he fell to his knees and shook as he sobbed uncontrollably. He would never forget the image of his brother, just like the rose, left crushed on the footpath.