In the center of the plaza, Cara watched the glass flower flutter.
It was the last of its kind. The last living thing from that world, gleaming and beautiful. Everything else had burned.
She remembered watching from orbit as the atmosphere turned to fire. It was still burning now. You could see it, out amongst the stars.
Cara remembered those who burned with it, a people turned to ash.
The flower bloomed. White spores took to the sky and the crowds laughed and cheered.
They didn’t know the spores were poisonous.
Cara watched the spores drift down and said nothing.
Word Count: 100
This is for Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for running the challenge and David Stewart for providing the photo prompt!