Fiction Numbers 4

Before the flash fiction bug grew tired of my antics, I managed to squeeze in a couple more.

TheOne, there by the jackfruit tree, is eloping. HisBeloved waits at the next stop. Squirrel gnaws through a jackfruit, loses a chunk to a wrong bite. TheOne haemorrhages to death. HisBeloved returns home, marries SomeoneElse.
She flew over mountains and rivers. He was mesmerised by the sky. They met when she gave up flying and became his new horizon.
At 90, he ate a pillow just like his father had. His son would too. But Realisation lost patience with that mocking idiot and left him in the dark; called it a cosmic joke.
“Obedience was my middle name”, she reminisced. Through marriage and motherhood, I was nicknamed Docile. “Perfect woman”, everyone said. Now Life, passing by, calls out,”Spineless” and I answer!

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