Flash Fiction

Petra skipped along the shoulder of a two-lane gravel road with a universe’s worth of stars and a waxing moon to light her way. Crisp night air cleansed the campfire smoke from her lungs and helped clear the effects of cheap wine from her mind.

Ashleigh floated along with her, beside but slightly behind, her stoic gaze focused ahead of them, seemingly unbothered by the darkness all around.

Petra didn’t speak, preferring to let the scuffing of her shoes and clicking of tiny stones provide a happy soundtrack to their journey until they came to a crossroads. She skidded to a halt next to a crooked stop sign, looked left, then right. “What now?”

Ashleigh sidled up next to her. “Pick a direction.”

Petra shrugged. “I don’t know.” She looked again into the dark. The roads leading away were wider, maybe even paved. Then Petra looked forward, and without thinking much more about the situation, kept moving.

Past the intersection, the road narrowed. It was rutted and uneven, but she kept going, though she walked instead of skipped, being more and more careful of her foot placement.

The road curved once, then again. The elevation rose, then fell. Ashleigh kept pace, but no more. Trees grew tall along the ditches, blocking the view of the moon, and eventually, the stars. Soon enough, the maintained gravel road ended, and the path ahead became little more than two ruts in the dirt. Petra’s pace faltered. Ashleigh stopped just ahead of her.

Petra looked back the way they had come. Nothing could be seen through the trees or past the last bend in the road. She held her jaw tight. A memory from her childhood came to her then. A friend’s birthday party at the big park down by the river. Running after a balloon caught in the breeze. Looking back what felt like a few seconds later to realize how far away she was from what she knew to be a safe place.

She swallowed hard. “I think we should head back.”

Ashleigh angled her head to her shoulder, but her eyes did not connect with Petra’s. “We can’t go back.”

Petra clenched her hands over the cuffs of her sweater. “Why not?”

Ashleigh’s eyes did lift then, but not for long. “Because you’re almost there.”

“Almost where?”

Ashleigh faced forward and started walking away. “It will be worth it. I promise. But you have to keep going.”

In that moment, Petra questioned how well she really knew Ashleigh. How well she knew anything at all. But, not wanting to be left alone in the dark, she followed.

As they walked, the ruts faded. They were forced through the trees and up a steep hill. Petra grasped and stumbled her way forward, nearly rolling her ankle at one point. She wanted to complain, but fear hindered the response. As the ground levelled, she looked up to realize that she couldn’t see Ashleigh. On the verge of tears, Petra powered forward until the world burst open in front of her.

The stars. The moon. The hint of the rising sun, reaching out to frost the treetops. She turned in place, taking it all in, the awe of it finally allowing the tears to flow.

Ashleigh rested a hand on her shoulder, the hint of a smile on her lips. “I told you it would be worth it.”

Petra wiped at her cheeks. “That really sucked. But this is amazing.”

Ashleigh nodded but looked back to the trees. “Sometimes it’s hard to keep going. Sometimes it’s even harder not to.” She stood away from Petra. “You’re not done yet, though.” She held out her hand. “Come on. I’ve got you.”

***

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

***

Lionel leaned against the beige metal door frame and rapped a knuckle on the open beige metal door.

Iva’s body tensed, halting her frantic search through the top-left drawer of her desk. She eased her clenched hand out and tucked it into the open bag on her lap. “What’s up?”

Lionel’s eyebrows pinched together, causing his nose to scrunch up against his wide-framed eyeglasses. “You all right, then?”

“Everything’s…fantastic.”

Lionel tilted his head, and a smile fought against the concern on his face. “Sure it is.” He relaxed his shoulders, but only a little. “I’m assuming your project meeting went well?”

Iva averted her eyes as a scowl overtook her face. “Just fantastic.”

“They didn’t cut your budget again, did they?”

Iva held her jaw tight. She drew her empty hand from her bag, then swiped the mouse on her desktop and hammered a staccato on the keyboard before she flipped her laptop closed and ripped the cord out that connected it to the external monitor on the right-hand side.

“Christ.” Lionel crossed his arms and checked over his shoulder. “It’s clear that Neil is tighter than two coats of paint, but this is bloody ridiculous.”

Iva shoved a leather-bound notebook into her bag, then swiped the zipper shut. “That’s one way to put it.”

“So, what now?”

Iva dropped her laptop into the still open desk drawer, then let it slam shut. “Right now, I need to go. I’m late for a meeting.”

Lionel’s eyes darted between Iva and the desk. “Okay. Right.” He stepped back from the door as she stomped past, both her bag and coat gripped in one hand. “So, we’ll see you later, then?”

Iva stopped. She tilted her head back but didn’t look right at Lionel. “Probably not.” Then she raised her head and walked on, around the tight cluster of cubicles, past the reception desk, and out the front door.

***

Photo by Francesco Liotti on Unsplash

***

Sometimes I just hurt a lot, but the doctors say that’s normal, so I try not to focus on it.

What I do focus on is the future. The one without me in it. I wonder how long my life will grieve. I wonder what her next husband’s name will be. If she’ll ever call him the love of her life. I wonder which of my possessions will be kept, and which will be sold. I wonder what my children will find in the basement that will change their opinion of me.

What I don’t wonder about is my job. The co-workers who haven’t reached out since I first crossed through the doors of the hospice. Or who they hired to replace me. I don’t wonder about how much money is in my bank account, or how well my investments are performing. I don’t even wonder how life would have been different if I saved more, or if I had enjoyed life more by choosing experiences over things that sit on a shelf or in a box.

I don’t wonder, because eventually, worry weighs more than curiosity. I worry about what comes next. How seeing me with wires and tubes sprouting from my arms, unable to sit up in bed, unable to brush my teeth or clean myself, will affect the people I love. I worry about where my energy will go when it leaves this frail shell. Whether it’s back to the collective, to a place of fire and brimstone, or nowhere at all. The unknowns have always been there, but we don’t pay attention to them, especially when times are good. Except, the time I have left is far from good. So, I wonder, and I worry, but more than anything else, I wait.

***

Photo by fitra zulfy on Unsplash

***

I’ve been having trouble sleeping, ever since the last full moon. I’m twitchy. I’m too hot. I’m too cold. And when I do sleep, my dreams are just…wrong.

In one I was watching from a distance as an old crone in a blood red Victorian gown, her lips bared against crooked teeth, under her crooked, black eyes, floated over my freshly dug grave. In another I stood on scorched earth with the broken fuselage of a passenger plane scattered around me, and the distinct smell of inefficiently burning jet fuel, burning plastic, and burning skin, abusing my senses.
Just as terrifying, there’s the ones where I’m back in the high school that I graduated from thirty years ago. Somehow, I’m still a student, and I never seem to be wearing pants. Every single night I’m there, and so is a particular face.

I don’t know if the kid with the messy blonde hair and wild look in his eyes was there the first couple of nights. When I did notice him, he was crouched behind the big grey garbage can in the cafeteria, eating a banana, peel and all. He stared at me while he chewed with an open mouth smile. The next few nights I only caught glimpses of him. His head bobbing through a crowd. Flared nostrils fogging up the library windows. Once, I swear he brushed up against me while I stood at a urinal.

It wasn’t until last night that he said something to me. I was in the foyer with a pillow tucked under my arm. A decorative one, not the kind most people sleep on. As faceless students flowed around me like spawning salmon, going to their next class, or maybe going home, a hand emerged. The thumb and forefinger grabbed a corner of the pillow and gave it a couple sharp tugs. I pulled the pillow to my chest, then looked up to the kid standing too close, but not close enough that it stopped the salmon from flowing between us. I told him to bugger off. He smiled wider. He said, don’t you know who I am? And then, the flow dried up. Everyone was in their class, or out the front door, including the kid, and I was alone.

I got the feeling in that moment that I did know who he was, but the details remained out of reach, as if locked behind a door barred with many chains and protective sigils. A door deep under a mountain somewhere, the passage leading to it only visible under a full moon. A door that should most certainly remain hidden.

It’s true, I’ve been having trouble sleeping lately, which isn’t great, but I get the feeling that it’s a lot better than opening that door.

***

Photo by Andrea Music on Unsplash

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