Flash of Fiction

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...

When I was young and stupid, I made a deal with the devil. Fast forward fifteen years, and he’s due to collect. But today’s not the day. I look him up and down. “To what do I owe the displeasure?” The devil holds something out. My contract. It bursts into flames. “I need a favor.”