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Weekly Contest #176
The pale flowers sat there on his desk, but he ignored them. He didn’t know why they were there. They had died a long time ago, but there they remained, mummified by time and a dusty old book. Someone had given them to him… he couldn’t remember who. That was ironic, wasn’t it? They are forget-me-nots. Why can’t I remember? He woke up with the bottle in his hand. He had forgotten to label it. “Such bad practice,” he muttered to himself, “not labeling things. Now I’ll never know what was in this bottle.” It wasn’t liquor, nor wine, nor ale of...
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