Autumn’s Shroud – © Lisa Shambrook
He gently gripped the damp park bench, his gnarled fingers slipping against the lichen, soft and wet, on the underside of the silvered wood. Shivers scrambled up his knotted spine, cold and sharp like a spider with frozen legs, and he clutched at the collar of his worn jacket, his trembling fingers attempting to fasten the topmost button. Giving up, he sighed, and pulled his arthritic legs up tight; for a moment his teeth chattered and his legs shook uncontrollably and then his frail body stilled.
Frost glistened on the ground and a crinkled brown leaf, reminiscent of his wrinkled weathered face, slipped from the tree rooted beside his bench, and silently fell.
As the early hours dawned, autumn’s confetti floated down, finally draping humanity’s loss with nature’s shroud.
My Five Sentence Fiction for the week, based on the prompt word Falling…
The Last Krystallos 