THE VASE AT THE FLEA MARKET BY Pat Garcia @pat_garcia @patgarcia.bsky.social @MFRWbookhook @rrbc-org.bsky.social #women’sfiction @amwriting #romancebook #writingjourney #Contemporaryromance

Hello Everyone,
I am presenting the second story in my Flash Fiction anthology, which is written as a trilogy within a series. Three Flashes are connected as one story.
I hope you enjoy seeing Beno and Zelda again.
Have a lovely day and take care.
Shalom shalom

Pat Garcia

Zelda tossed from one side to the other in the king-size bed belonging to her and Beno. She made herself lie still and shaped herself into a spoon on her right side, staring at the chipped, brownish-red-toned vase standing on the end table where Beno always slept. As ugly as that vase was, it radiated the only hope she had that he wasn’t dead. Like a persistent gnawing in her spirit, the vessel fanned the flame in her that Beno was alive.

Since he’d slithered into their new home to surprise her on her birthday, she’d heard nothing else from him. He’d received a thirty-six-hour pass and hadn’t allowed her to ask any questions about how he got it. Instead, he’d rushed her out of their home and taken her to the flea market. There, he’d shown her what he’d discovered. His face lit up when he pointed to the chipped antique vase. Even though it was the ugliest vase Zelda had ever seen, Beno’s lips had kissed and caressed it while scrutinizing its damages as if it were a precious jewel.

She’d asked him why that vase. There were others so much prettier.

His head had slanted slightly toward her, and his eyes had locked her in place.

“Chipped, Zelda,” he’d said. “The vase’s disfigurements display its inner beauty and its strength. Don’t you think so?”

He’d purchased it for more than it was worth and handed it to her. “For your birthday, my sweet Zelda.”

They had returned home, and he’d taken it to their bedroom and placed it on the nightstand by his side of the bed. “Think of us every time you turn toward where I sleep and see the vase,” Beno had said, and he had taken her in his arms.

Afterward, exhausted from their lovemaking, she’d fallen asleep with her head lying on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

Beno snuck away just as he had come, suddenly. Since then, fresh purple and white orchids, accompanied by a single bloody red rose in the middle, have appeared on their doorsteps every two weeks, accompanied by a four-word text-“to fill the vase.”

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