At Quintessential we’ve been doing Flash Fiction week. It’s fun and challenging for me! Members in the group post pictures from their cells and I write a quick story to go with the image. You're always welcome to join us! Read July's Flash Fiction:
No sooner did she finish unzipping her luggage did she scream. The lid flapped up on it’s own and like a contortionist unfurling their body he stepped out of the bag. Her hand flew to her mouth to squelch the sound. Then she hesitantly peered inside, wondering if there were more people clown-carred inside. “W-What are you doing in my suitcase?” She managed, still shocked and wondering where her clothes were. “You can’t keep going on business trips to paradise alone. I told you last time I’d stow away in your suitcase.” Ignoring her wide-eyed disbelief, he stepped out onto the terrace. “Wow. Look at that view!”
“Is he finally asleep?” “Yes, but now my leg’s asleep. If I move he’ll wake up. Need a treat. To go out. Want to play fetch. Get all wound up again. We’ll have to work to get him to relax. It’s like some sadistic version of if you give a mouse a cookie, but in our case it’s a dog.”
The giant ray swims past me. My jaw drops as I place my hand against the glass. Suddenly I’m eight years old. I want to know everything about it. How much bigger will it get? What does it eat? Hopefully not the smaller colorful schools of fish swimming in circles round the tank. Is there another one? I can reach into my back pocket and Siri will give me all the answers, but the child in me doesn’t want to rely on my grown-up tech. I want someone to tell me. A real person who knows all about this surreal fish.
“She’s touching me!" “stay on your own side!” “Are there any snacks? “I have to pee.” Are we there ye—“ I put on my noise canceling earphones and the world goes silent. I can feel the tires rolling over the grooves in the pavement. My body vibrates. The coffee in the cupholder smells even more delicious. I want to close my eyes. But the view up around the next bend is amazing so I don’t want to risk falling asleep and missing it. My husband’s face contorts as small fingers pull the muffs away from my ears. “…just threw up.” So much for solitude.