To Dust.....
I miss writing flash fiction
He emptied the vacuum canister onto the dining room table. One by one he delicately drew out the longest strands of golden hair, the ones he knew for certain were not the dog’s.
He sat and watched the setting sun cast a spindly, delicate shadow of the pile of hair across the table, lengthen into a gray, murky pool then disappear in the darkness.
The dog lay beside his chair, snore-barking in a dream sleep.
He picked up the tuft of hair, cupped it in his hands, leaned into it and breathed.
It smelled like dust.
Wow! All that is unsaid. Thank you.
Sounds like a story of loss