"You're not exactly my type," she said. Donato picks one petal off his roses. "She loves me, she loves me not." The dried flowers crumble at his touch. A box remains unopened under the bed. It was for Estela's birthday last week. "Will it sell on Ebay?" he thought.
(Seven-word flash fiction in 7 sentences. A collection of 77 stories on what-nots)