“No, a clock fell on him.”
“Well, it was just a clock.”
“A grandfather clock.”
I couldn’t understand what they were saying, but the one man was on fire. They were both wearing suits, their long hair was tied at their necks. They had been shaking hands for a while now.
“He hasn’t been dead long.”
I wanted to get up to ask how the man on fire wasn’t burning. He didn’t seem to be in pain and his skin, clothes, and hair seemed untouched by the flames. I tried to sit up but there was something pinning me to the floor.
“Well, who gets him?” The man that wasn’t on fire asked.
“Only time will tell.” The burning man laughed.
“Oh, that’s not funny.”
Hey guys. It’s been awhile. Here is some flash fiction that was inspired by Pink Floyd.