Image: Pixabay
How did Michael decide what should stay and what should go?
They'd picked the sofa together, the stereo, the dining table. Every item discussed, fought over, every choice a compromise so that nothing in the flat was really Michael's taste or Con's, but that of "Michael 'n' Con", an entity murdered by boredom and a million tiny irritations.
Some things he would dispose of - the yoga mat, the hand-knit throw, the rose bought for their anniversary but never given. All red, the symbol of love and danger.
Con's favourite colour.
Was that another warning sign Michael had ignored?
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This post was written for the Friday Fictioneers flash fiction prompt which is run by the incomparable Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. One story, one hundred words - come and have a go if you think you're hard enough.