Written for the open_on_sunday drabble group. The theme was Patterns, I was having dizzy spells, this is what came out.
She may have been wearing flowers, but itís hard to remember now. He sees crisscrossing yellow straw, bound together by pale red twine. Scattered pebbles an intricate mix of smooth and jagged on the alley floor. His head swims with flashes of crimson lips, golden eyes, Icelandic cold skin. He tries focusing on one thing and fails, the dizzying rush of blood from his body is too much. His mind swims.
And then all is still. Soft pink nipple peeking from a corset. Goose pimpled skin rising as his mouth engages the wound on her breast. Not flowers. Just black.