Flash of Fiction

“Guys, wait up! My bag’s caught on something!” My gang of pirates circle back, eyeing my candy bag. Two of my friends grab my arms, and we yank the bag free. But the bag’s not all we got. A real severed finger is stuck to my bag, the hand it belongs to reaching for us.

There are certain things you say because they’ll never happen, like pigs flying or a zombie apocalypse. Well, I take them back. Everything like that I’ve ever said. Every. Single. One. Because I was wrong. Zombies are real, and they want to eat me. In fact, they’re banging on my door right now. Meanwhile, Greg and I are trying to get my bedroom window open. “Come on,” I say, stealing a glance at the door. It’s rattling. The frame looks about ready to give. “It’s stuck,” Greg says. His face is turning purple as he strains to lift the window. I push him aside. “Then we’ll just break it.” I slam the butt of my dad’s hunting rifle into the glass. It shatters on the first try. “Mom and Dad are gonna kill you.” I gape at him. “Seriously? You think they’re gonna care more about the broken window than the zombies busting down the door?” “You have a point,” he mumbles. “Yeah, now go.” I nod toward the window. “Why do I have to go first?” “Because I’ve ...

“See ya tomorrow, girls!” My friends parroted the words back to me as I started down the block toward my car. It wasn’t even ten yards away, but I only made it halfway there. A hand clamped over my mouth, and an arm curled around my waist. The hand muffled my yelp of surprise followed by my screams for help. They were audible, but only just. Behind me, my captor shivered. “Ooh, that’s it, baby. The more scared you are, the sweeter you are.” The hand over my mouth yanked my head so hard to one side, my neck cracked. My captor’s chest pressed against my back as he leaned forward. His nose ran the length of my neck, and he inhaled deeply. My screams intensified as I tried to wriggle away from the creep who had me. He dragged me further back into the darkness, his grip strong as steel. He let go of my waist, but I still couldn’t get away. The hand over my mouth held me in place. My captor ran his free hand over my neck. He stroked it, running his fingers up and...

Someone walks up. A girl who used to be my best friend. She tucks a flower under my hand, tears welling in her eyes. “I should’ve been better to you.” As she steps down, another person takes her place. My ex. The one who cheated on me. “I’ve never regretted what I did more. I sure hope that’s not why we’re here.” He stares down at me, something that might pass as emotion on anyone else furrowing his features. If my hands weren’t so full of flowers, I’d reach up and punch him. But since I’m sort of stuck and he doesn’t have a flower or some trinket to give me, he gives me one last look and ducks out of the room. Behind him, the line seems never-ending. More old friends, estranged family, slightly less estranged family, recent friends, coworkers, old classmates, teachers, a few professors, close family, exes. Everyone is here. Everybody showed up. I’ve never felt more loved before. It’s too bad they couldn’t have made me feel this way before I killed myself.

The floorboards creak under my feet. I take a deep breath, trying to calm my frayed nerves. Off to my right, something crashes to the floor. My head snaps in that direction, and I hear a quiet “whoops.” “Seriously, Michael?” My friend steps into view. He shrugs. “It’s dark in here.” A wry smile curls his lips. “Scared you, didn’t I?” Trying to hide how easily he can scare me, I search the room to my left for signs of life. The furniture is draped with sheets and coated in dust. Nothing moves, not even the branches outside one of the paned windows. Floorboards groan as Michael walks forward. He touches my shoulder, and despite my best efforts, I flinch. “Let’s go upstairs, scaredy-cat.” Swallowing, I follow Michael up the creaky steps. Each one protests under his weight and then mine, and I’m sure one of them will snap before we make it to the top. But they don’t. The stairs are intact when I step onto the second floor. Michael’s already barged into a ...

I gathered her hair in my fingers, pulling her head back. She laughed. A deep, sexy laugh. She’d always liked it rough. As she said something, egging me on, trying to get me to be rougher, I reached for the knife I’d left in the top drawer of the nightstand. I yanked her head back farther. She moaned, and I dragged the knife across her throat, slitting it from ear to ear. She fell forward, clutching her throat in her hands, trying desperately to stop the bleeding. I waited and watched the pool of red grow. When she finally stopped twitching, I stood. “Good riddance.”

Terror. Disgust. I really don’t know. It’s kind of a toss-up when you wake up covered in blood. It’s not my blood either. It’s somebody else’s. But I only know that because I don’t have any cuts. I can’t remember last night at all. Or how I got here. Or where here is. According to the notepad on the nightstand, it’s the Moyers Hotel. So, I’m downtown. Still no idea how I get here. My phone’s on the floor, the screen shattered. It wasn’t like that last night. Before I pick it up, I rinse the blood off my hands. I wash my face off while I’m at it. When I zip my jacket up, you can’t see the massive blood stain on my shirt. I’m good as new. Disgust levels down, I check my phone. I’ve got a million notifications, each text more frightening than the last. Where are you? Are you okay? Are you alive? I ignore them all and check my card charges. The last one was at a bar a few blocks from here. I take everything I know is mine from the room and hea...