Rose from the Oblivion

a piece of flash fiction in 100 words

Years gone by. Another visit surprises. With steadily stepping feet, determined gait, moves on the traveller. Like stranger, overpassing the land at his unvarying speed. About to take a curious turn towards newer terrain, he hears a voice. Something there, from under his implacable foot cries out: "I'm shrivelling. Before moving on, take my petal along". Echoes all around: "As you go onto thirty-first street, keep it in pages of travelogue".

Wearing a startled expression, he kneels down. The small petal, a bit faded; yet red, encircled by the crumbled whorl, smilingly rustles: "remember me as the thirtieth rose; from oblivion".