You knew today was coming. Seconds. Minutes. Hours. You wish time would slow and stop, or the hands on the clock would speed and spin and it would be tomorrow, the day after, next week, and you’d still be here. Still be alive.
You can’t get out of bed. Your legs are heavy with fright You're surrounded by the stench of your own fear.
A clatter. A thud.
It’s only the postman and you ball your fists tight and press them against your chest as if you can slow your heart.
You know he’ll come. How could he not? His first day out and you’ll be on his mind. Not in his heart. Not anymore. Not after your betrayal.
Is it the morning or the afternoon they queue to claim their plastic bags full of possessions and step blinking into the almost forgotten sunlight? You really don’t want to know.
The shattering of glass. Footsteps thud on the stairs.
You screw your eyes tightly shut and pray it will be over soon. In a way, it will be a relief.
Flash Fiction >