A friend of mine at work has been sending me story prompts that have been simmering in my brain while I sit quietly at my desk and try not to explode. Here's one of them:
Every single day, a young man would steal flowers from an elderly woman's garden on the way to see his fiance.
After
a month of this happening, the elderly woman caught him and told him
that he can continue to pick her flowers, but only if he showed her that
his fiance was not only pretty enough to warrant flower theft, but that
they were truly happy with each other.
As they walked together, the elderly woman rambled on about true love and how precious it was. However, the young man wasn't listening. He kept trying to figure out a way to break it to her that they were on the way to the cemetery.
So, here's what came out of it:
---
Loose grit crunched like snow under his boots as he approached the garden. Gnarled branches twisted through the air like snakes frozen in the act of striking, withered and mottled with moss by the ages that drifted slowly by. A huge rose bush rambled aimlessly against the fence, making an almost impenetrable barrier - almost, but not quite.
Hal glanced around quickly, then grinned to himself as he pushed one of the fence slats. It swung up and out on its rusty nail, parting the thorny creepers and holding them at bay as he slipped through, just out of reach of sharp, grabbing twigs.
A neglected air pervaded the fenced yard, scraggly bushes boasting an overabundance of flowers while weeds riddled the bleached bark mulch below. A bed of huge, colorful daffodils rioted in the corner with tulips and lilies of the valley, tangled with dandelions and queen anne’s lace and thistle. Opposite the daffodils a raised bed seemed to be collapsing under a profusion of strawberry plants, spilling over the edges like wine from a drunkard’s cup.