I'm piecing together a story I want to work on in little scrap parts. Not true flash fiction, but it's a good exercise.
A thousand possible futures she lived in her mind while the grass lapped around her. The horses – their riders – came closer, the muffled tattoo of hooves across the field a vibration beneath her. “Go with them,” he’d told her, “they will be kinder to you than my master.” But as the sun seared the backs of her eyelids, all she could see was his face, and none of those futures were ones she wanted. The horses came and then were gone again, the echo of their departure long fading. Whatever pain awaited her now, at least she’d chosen it. At least it had been her decision.