Welcome to Flash Fiction Friday and the one hundred and forty-ninth piece in this series. This week’s is a 332-worder by Jade Kennedy.
Poppies in the Snow
If only she wasn’t the only one who could see the rip in the sky, if only others could see and wonder at it as she had for such a long time. It appeared suddenly on a morning heavy with ice and snow. She had been creating shapes on the glass from her breath when in the corner of the garden a small rip appeared in the skyline. It was so close to the ground that it parted the snow as it ripped and a small ruby red poppy fell through the gap, bringing with it enough warm sunlight to melt a puddle into the harsh overnight snow.
Of course no one could see it or feel it, and passed it off as a fairytale so this became her lifelong secret.
The days turned to weeks and still the rip was there, never witnessed or talked about by anyone else – she started to doubt herself and took to drawing the fraying rip in the sky every week, documenting its change.
As that hard winter turned to a wet but vibrant spring the small poppy withered away to be replaced by a scattering of rusted leaves that fell through with a persistent rain. It was then she realised that beyond the tear this world lived in the opposite season and that even night was day – she could sit and watch the full moon rise by the light of a breaking dawn. When she ran through the garden in summer, disturbing the dandelion seeds, they would float softly on warm currents and mingle with the delicate snowflakes blown across from the ever-growing rip.
It grew higher and wider as she grew up until as a woman, she could stand in front of it watching the winds from both worlds pull and warp the sides tearing it further. It grew to resemble the shape of a lock and it was only a matter of time before she saw another looking back at her.
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I asked Jade what prompted this piece and she said…
