Three Flash Fictions

• Music Appreciation

The BEAT, BEAT, BEAT, of the music grated through my body. I didn’t even need to look at the clock. 11:45pm. same thing every night. He would come home from work and the music would come on. It wasn’t even music, just a lot of noise. 11:45 to 12:30. Then blissful silence, until 5:45am, then BEAT, BEAT, BEAT.

I don’t know if it was the caffeine, the fact that I lost my job, or that the cable company disconnected their service, but that night, the beat hit the absolute wrong note. I went to the desk in the front hall and pulled out the gun I kept for protection. My gun weighed heavy in my hand as I walked upstairs, my gait calmer than my mood. I banged hard on the door in order to be heard over the noise. When the door opened, the decibel level was even greater than I anticipated. I raised my gun, and focused on my target.

BEAT, BEAT, BEAT.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

I lowered myself to the floor, gun dangling from my fingers. I formulated my answers to the inevitable questions the police would have for me. I would plead temporary insanity; I had been driven crazy by the noise. I was willing to take whatever punishment was in store for me. Smiling, I wondered, what was the sentence for killing a stereo.

• An Old Flame

I saw an old flame at the A&P last Friday night. He was in the produce section picking out pears. Three children were with him. One clung to a pant leg, the other to his belt, the third was tucked face down under the cart asleep. No sign of a mother.

In spite of the grease stained jeans, a worn Bon Jovi t-shirt and whiskers that gave the impression he hadn’t shaved in a week, I found myself biting my lower lip and smiling.

I hid behind a stack of Mountain Dew and silently prayed that he hadn’t seen me. I fought the urge to take one final peek before I left the store.

• Starting Over

Eva stared out the window at the stark grey wall across the alley. She only half listened as the realtor droned on behind her: new shower – energy saving furnace – laundry in the basement. The woman’s voice was as bleak as the building outside. It was only when Eva heard the words ‘twenty-four hour security’ did she pay attention.

Over the past few months, feeling secure had become Eva’s mantra. Detective Moore, or David as he preferred Eva call him, had pounded that need into her head. It was still hard to believe that a farm girl from Nowhere, Wisconsin would be on a first name basis with detectives, judges, and federal prosecutors. But that was a lifetime ago.

As more details about a charming one bedroom, fully furnished, newly painted, blah, blah, blah echoed in her ears, a lone pigeon flew toward the window and gently perched on the sill. Eva watched as the bird bobbed its head up and down pecking at unseen seeds or insects. Eva reached out her hand and placed it on the window so only a thin piece of glass separated her from the bird. There was no fear in the bird’s eyes as it turned and stared at Eva. Eva stared back.

“If you have no questions,” the realtor asked behind her, “would you like to come to my office and sign the lease?”

Eva couldn’t tear herself away from the bird.

“Miss? Miss?”

“It’s Ms.” Eva replied with a smile, “Ms. Jacky GreyFeather”