Posted in flash fiction

Life Is But The Moments

Life is but the moments we make in it.

At least that’s what Edna thought she remembered him saying now.¬†Sixty years on she supposed exact verbiage no longer really mattered.

The plane rattled down the runway. Edna watched the early morning horizon slip by. These moments always reminded her of her mother’s silk scarf floating away on the wind. The way it twisted, trying to escape the inevitable hand of fate it was dealt, and the way her mother ran after it, crimson nails just barely missing the straggling threads.

Had she known then how some people were capable of so much more … had she understood the intricacies of human emotions, fits of rage and the abilities of people to do things outside the realm of “normal” … Like kill others or freeze moments …

Edna settled back into her seat. It took so much out of her now, she figured she only had a few more times in her.

A few more things to see, to record.

A few more moments to live, to love.

Instinctively she reached into the old leather messenger bag, relishing in the old smell of cigars and aftershave, and patted the worn inner pocket. Her notebook, a verifiable tome of time, was secure inside.


I know this doesn’t really make sense in it’s brief form but it was something that struck me and I wanted to share here.¬†

Posted in flash fiction

One-Way Street

WordPress Daily Prompt – One-Way

In the dream I’m standing at the intersection again. There’s the green truck, barreling towards the stop sign. The driver, otherwise preoccupied, with his head lolling back and his eyes half closed will never even brake.

The little red car will never see it coming, they will never realize he’s flying the wrong way down the one-way street.

I don’t need to watch the scene again and again to see the fear and recognition cross their faces. An anger bubbles inside me. That poor girl is no more than twelve years old when she flies through the passenger’s side windshield.

I can see the blood pooling by the tires and feel the splatters warm on my cheeks. The scene is the kind they say you never want to look away from but you know you should.

Even in my dreams I’m too shocked to do anything. There is no springing into action, no saving lives.

Even in my dreams they all die.

But I don’t hear the grinding metal and crunching bones. No, all I can hear … as loud as day even though I’m not wearing my headphones, is Aerosmith.

“Honey, you’re headin’ down a one-way street … And I gotta go the other way …”

My sheets are always soaked by time I wake because even in my dreams I can’t seem to go the other way.


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