A fifty-word flash fiction writing post composed for March. This piece is a brief story about war, cold, hunger, renewed friendships, and soup.


Borchst

Cruel weather. Despite modern material ingenuity, once cold seeps in, harder to recede.

Months of stand-off, no washing water, barely to drink. No fuel, ammunition low. She approaches.

Bowl in hand, she smiles. He stares a moment as steam wisps rise.

Enough.

Discards Kalashnikov, takes off helmet, accepts her spoon.


Words: 50.

Edited from an Original Anonymous Post on:

Litopia March Flash Fiction Competition

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