Flash of Fiction

She’s wearing red. She always does. She says it’s better for business that she never looks messy, that it comforts people to think hers is not a messy business. And she says the best way to keep the blood from showing is to wear red. Her floor-length gown ripples around her feet as she glides across the room. Her left arm is stiff, hardly moving. When she gets closer to her next business venture, her left palm opens. A dagger slides out of her sleeve. No one notices the dagger falling into her hand. Walking behind her target, she pretends to stumble. She throws out her right hand and catches herself on his back. “Are you okay, miss?” Her target looks over his shoulder. “I will be in a moment.” She presses her dagger to her target’s neck. His mouth opens, and her right palm clamps over it. “It’s nothing personal, just business.” Her right hand falls to his shoulder, holding him in place. “In your next life, don’t cheat on your wife.” She ducks behind his shoul...

“Don’t go out too far, sweetie!” I’d shoot Mom a thumbs-up, but my hands are too busy keeping me afloat. My feet stopped touching the sand ages ago, and I need both arms and legs to stay above the waves. I swim farther out to sea. “That’s far enough!” I glance back at shore. Mom beckons me back to her. I paddle back at an angle, prolonging my swim. Halfway there, a rip current sweeps me out to sea. The beach shrinks, getting farther away by the second. I swim back toward shore with all I’ve got. I don’t get any closer, but I don’t get any farther away either. Wait. This is wrong. They tell you not to swim against the current. I try swimming with it, but that’s wrong, too. I spin in a circle, looking for the beach. When I find it, I swim parallel to it. My arms and legs are exhausted, but I make it out of the rip current. Then it’s a long swim back to shore, which I don’t have the energy for. My head slips under a wave. I flail my way back to the s...

His fingers fly across the keyboard. Windows flash by on his computer screen. “How much longer?” she asks. “Two minutes,” he says. Two minutes tick by, and he breaks through the final firewall. “Got it.” She puts a code in front of him. As soon as he types it in, they hear the missile launch.

I touch the two live wires together. Nothing. Leaning my cheek against the wheel, I try again. Still no dice. The next try yields a brief grumble from the engine. “Work with me, baby.” I touch the two wires again. This time, the engine roars to life, deafening after the silence of the empty street. I let out a whoop. The passenger door opens. I’m not expecting anybody, so I whip the car into gear. Before I can slam on the gas, a man slides into the car. “Nice work,” he says. “It didn’t even take you two minutes to get in and start the engine.” I swallow. This guy doesn’t look like a cop, but he might pass as a fed. “It was a compliment. No need to worry that I know so much. I’m not a cop.” He pauses, eyeing me. “Or a fed.” “How do I know that?” “If I were, would I have gotten in the car with you?” “Fair enough.” “Word on the street is you can steal any car you want.” Pride puffs out my chest. “Oh, yeah?” “Is this true?” I shrug. “If I prepare, yeah. Every ...

“No peeking!” “I can’t see through the blindfold. Your hands are redundant.” I pull at his hands. They don’t budge. “I want it to be a surprise.” “I know, but this’d be a lot easier if you trusted your blindfold.” “I gotta be sure.” He guides me down a hill. I stumble over a tree root. “This sucks. How much farther?” “Almost there.” I take another step forward and fall into a hole, landing on something that’s not ground. “Is that—?” My boyfriend retches. Taking off the blindfold, I see what it is. It’s a body.

As I chop vegetables, my knife slips and cuts my finger. “Ow! Ow, oh, that’s bad!” “Do you need the first aid kit? Should I turn on the faucet?” “Yeah, yeah, both!” The water starts running, and the first aid kit appears on the counter. Rinsing off my finger, my face pales. I live alone.

I snap a few pictures of the DOA’s head. I take a few more from another angle. “Can we flip her?” Snapping another picture, I nod. The medical examiner rolls the body over. I photograph everything. As I’m taking pictures of her face, my shutter stops. I know this body. She’s my mother.