Nervously, in darkness, she waits on a park bench holding his photograph printed from the internet. Eventually, red carnation discarded, she trails disconsolately homeward.
Meanwhile, local traffic police pull a body from wreckage, note the crushed carnation, and discover in his pockets a woman’s photo, duct tape, and a knife.
Viv lives in Somerset, England, and is retired, but still nippy on her pins. She recently joined a writing class and has been trying out 50-word stories on her fellow writers, as her normal stories sent them to sleep. Viv has no pets, but has one partner and a garden full of birds that require daily feeding, as well as a love of books, Shakespeare, and treacle tart.
Conrad stared at his sullen reflection in the cracked sideview mirror. He didn’t want to picture the front bumper.
The examiner tapped him. “You passed.”
“What? But, the mailbox — and the tree…”
“You’ve taken five tests this year. I’m six years from retirement. I wanna survive ’til then. You passed.”
Anna Zumbro lives in Washington, D.C. Her writing has been published in Thick Jam and Pound of Flash.
Jim’s wounds had clotted. His hair was matted with dried blood. His lips were dry and split, indicating he’d been lying there for a while. He could see his car up the hill, wrapped around the tree.
Even after all the pain, Jim still thought his tweet was worth it.
Keith is a rugged outdoors-man and avid sealclubber-clubber. He hails from a higher dimension where time and space hold no sway over Keith’s majestic infinity.
There was a door at the end of the hall.
No one knew where it led. Some said a bathroom. Some said a secret cellar. Some said France.
Only one man claimed to know the secret.
He died in a car accident. No one asked very many questions after that.
This story was based on a title suggested by @C_h_a_s_e_y.