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August Flash Fiction: Day 24

August Flash Fiction: Day 24

It's been an unseasonably wet summer here in Upstate New York, making this pic feel like an especially great choice.

Each day a new post with a picture (with a CC0 license), word count limit, and occasional additional twist will be published at 7:00 am EDT. You will then have until the next day's post to write your story.

You can then either keep it to yourself (a perfectly valid way to participate!) or you can share your story itself in the comments, or share a link in the comments where we can read your story (blog, Instagram etc.)
My daily story will be added to the post under the picture within the same deadline. 

Aug. 24 Word Limit: 400
Aug. 24 photo prompt:

pexels-photo-396947.jpg

Goodbye
166

There are scents of summer that are easily revisited from the everyday setting of home. You can crack open a bottle of sunscreen and feel like you’re at the beach again, gritty sand between your toes. You can slice up a watermelon in your clean white kitchen and be reminded of a hundred summer watermelons sliced in a dozen different settings.

But it’s the smell of sun-steamed wood, our watery footprints across the docks being baked away that makes me think of summer the most, and it’s a smell I can only get here.
Could only get here.

My summer history is drowning, being eaten by rising waters that were once half-remembered warnings, things we would obviously be excluded from because we were, well, we were us, and that held it’s own special protection right?
We do our best to control it, to subdue it, but we are not the masters of nature.
And even as we change and manipulate, it always has the greater hand.

August Flash Fiction: Day 25

August Flash Fiction: Day 25

August Flash Fiction: Day 23

August Flash Fiction: Day 23