By Rachel Canwell
Behind tinted glass I feel their eyes.
Watching.
Waiting for me to unfurl, to come to life. Poised to cultivate their long awaited prize.
I rise, stretch, and inwardly laugh, as immediately shadows fly to the glass, their palms pressed hard against the pane.
I lift my hands to match theirs, to feel the connection. Revel in my power.
Not long now.
I feel it gnawing at my joints, cracking around the edges, coursing through my veins.
And when I bloom, I will bloom like a bruise. Smothering their expectations with the violet and magenta of my shattered, captive soul.
Rachel Canwell is a blogger, reader and writer who is working on her first novel. She is also falling in love with Flash Fiction a little bit more each day.
The Birdseed 