Flash Fiction. Falling.

Falling.

There are souls which fall from heaven like flowers, but ere they bloom are crushed under the foul tread of some brutal hoof. Jean Paul Richter

She fell.  Not a delicate trip on a cobblestone street but a full force forward tumble through the air, and on, to the ground.

She stayed there feeling the pain.

The earth was soft and she wanted to sleep forever and maybe even a little more than ever because life was not what she wanted.

What if she pressed her face closer?

She forgot everything. The body, sensing the soul’s surrender, took over and refused to let go and be turned into flowers.

The body pushed and poked at the stillness within.  It would not give up. It would do what needed to be done to rouse the soul curled up inside.