Flash Fiction: Greenhouse
©Trent Davis Bailey The North Fork, Matt Hotchkiss, 2014
James rushed home. His whole life, James rushed everywhere: at his job, at his marriage, at his fitness center. In the morning, he rushed and ran to the train station, and at night he ran around the house chasing his silly children. There was one place where James managed not to rush — at his greenhouse, where he locked himself in every Friday afternoon. Walking around his favorite plants, in absolute silence, James bloomed himself. He breathed in the still, warm air inside the greenhouse and felt calm. James stood in the corner for five minutes, starring at the product of his labor. His knees started to give in, and he fell into the dirt. “Tired,” James thought. “I am so tired.”
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