(...)
Amy.

Today, Amy is at her nearby flower garden. She didn't plan to be there. Nor does that matter

Amy. Amy was her name. Nothing more. It was a cliche name. Do you agree?

The summer skies were blue, but Amy couldn't see them. In a metaphorical way, not physically.

This is Amy's story.

Amy doesn't seem to show much interest in the fact that summer has fallen on her city.

Perhaps Amy couldn't let go.

Flower. This beautiful flower, Amy said.

This flower, summer, and Amy.

Wonderful story.

Do you agree?

-
(This short story is more or less my try at "experimental" or more "abstract" writing, meant to, more or less, test the limits of my writing.)
(Inspiration mostly from Jennifer Johnston's works, which are psychedelically immersive - in a good way. Go check her works out.)

The story is written in blue ink, in tribute to the original that i wrote with a fountain pen with blue ink.