The Tea Garden | Flash Fiction

As the rain falls, a woman’s silhouette walks down an old, stone pathway. Her high heels click-clack against the slick cobblestones until she arrives at her destination—a little covered tea garden—and pulls out a chair. The haunting sound of fluttering wings whispers across the windy night air. A candle sets the mood, flickering in front of her. As she takes off her glasses and begins to look through the menu, she gets the sensation that there is someone behind her.

Turning around slowly, she can see the tall, dark figure of a man. Closer, closer, until the facial features can be clearly distinguished from the nightly background.

She remembered him now. But it couldn’t have been him. He’s been dead for more than three years.

The wind starts to blow with increased power. Leaves everywhere and a horrible, deep wailing sound from the depths of the forest nearby.

“It is him,” she told herself, horror and despair taking over.

“But… how?”

The memories of that terrible night flood her. The hike, the storm, the precipice.

But most of all, her hand pushing him into the depths below.

She knocks over her drink, spilling tea all over herself, and rushes out in terror.

 


“The Tea Garden” started as an experiment where the prompt consisting of the first and last paragraph were AI-generated.

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