Dear Ivy, 3-31-2015

Written by Rand Burgess

When looking at the sculpted ash rose petals clutching the cherry of my cigarette last night I realized that Holly was dead. I mean, I feel it, right now, am feeling it, her deadness—hurricane static on the widescreen. That’s when I realized, you would be flowers. No, flora.

Flora. Flora. Flora.

 

Rand is a creative writing major at SOU. He excels at the strange and strangely poetic. His primary focus is on the weird short story, that is, when he isn't busy writing letters to imaginary acquaintances or kicking it with Cthulhu.

Rand is a creative writing major at SOU. He excels at the strange and strangely poetic. His primary focus is on the weird short story, that is, when he isn’t busy writing letters to imaginary acquaintances or kicking it with Cthulhu.

 

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