Warm and pleasant, the rays of the sun touched her skin. Closing her eyes, she soaked in the warmth.
It was almost prophetic, this moment. The silky texture of the gown fell around her ankles as she walked up the promenade. Flowers seemed to bloom and bow, out of deference to her strong, silent gait.
Her hands came out of her pockets. The police drew their guns in readiness. Crossing her empty arms, she stood before them and fixed them with a stare that would make them quake.
The crowd raised a cheer at the strength of her peaceful protest.
Welcome to The Moving Quill!
For this year’s A to Z Challenge, I’ve taken up the theme of
An Oxymoron rendered in micro-fiction.
Each day’s title will have one half of the oxymoron while the second half will be revealed towards the end of the post.
Follow me as I unravel each tale in exactly 100 words.