Flash Fiction #1
Three stories that will leave you begging for more…or NOT!
WHEN?
For some strange reason he bounced out of bed at his usual 7 a.m. without a pain in his slightly arthritic joints. He even felt light in his slippers and he practically breezed through the front door to fetch the newspaper at the foot of his driveway.
He turned on the electric percolator and settled at the kitchen table to thumb through the days news. The aroma of morning coffee brewing was slow in coming, so he dug deeper into the paper.
As he scanned the obits, he blanched. There was HIS name. Suddenly there was no air to breathe. Clutching his chest, he fell to the floor.
They buried him a few days later on April 3.
NOTED
Like most mornings he was out the door in a flash, stopping only to scribble his occasional note to his wife, Carrie, about his schedule.
As Carrie sat down to her morning coffee, she slid the note closer. She smiled. Opening it, she read: “Don’t wait for me tonight, or any night. I’ll be staying next door with Suzanne for the near future. Love, John.” Suzanne’s husband had died a year ago.
Carrie and Suzanne skipped their usual mid-afternoon snack. Suzanne was cooking up a storm. Carrie was emptying several chests in the bedroom.
That evening John eagerly sprinted from his car to his new life. Opening the door, he was met with the lingering aromas of his favorite meal, beef stew. No Suzanne in sight. He’d wait at the kitchen table where fresh Kaiser rolls invited shmears of butter. Then he saw the note: “Dear John, enjoy the dinner but don’t wait for me tonight or any night. I’ll be staying over here with Carrie for a while, maybe a long while. Good luck, Suzy.”
RETURNS OF THE DAY
The hand held massager was three years old and broken just a week past it’s return guarantee.. No problem thought Elliot. After breakfast he got into his Tesla and headed to Walmart. There he bought the latest version of the massager, plus always enough other things to normalize his register receipt. On these occasions he always paid with cash.
Upon returning home, he tested the massager to see if it worked. Perfect. Then he took the old massager and put it in the empty box of the new one. Waiting a few days, he turned up at the Walmart Returns desk asking for one of those no-questions-asked refunds. And thus the old broken massager made it back into the supply chain where it left store and regional managers scratching their heads.
Then one of the community college interns noticed that there were many such illicit returns usually involving small electronics: laptops, digital cams, small TVs, vacuums, etc. And one store seemed to outdo all the others in having faulty products returned to the shelves where they vexed other customers.
That evening Elliot bragged to his wife: “Well, I did it again. Got a brand new massager.” Don’t you feel guilty, Anna answered. It’s worse than shoplifting, she added. How’s that, he replied. Well shoplifters really may be strapped for cash, she guessed. Well the company is insured for such losses, he said shrugging the matter off.
What will you do if they catch you, she asked? I’ll plead insanity, he answered, feeling perfectly sane. Well even kleptomaniacs will have to make restitution, she warned.
Elliot’s actions were too calculated for kleptomania. In fact, the total dollar amount kicked the offenses out of the misdemeanor and into the felony category.
As Elliot finished clearing the dinner dishes from the table, the doorbell chimed. They’re here for you, teased Anna. Ha, he opened the door, and there stood Sheriff Galotta.
“What’s up,” Elliot mustered with the raised eye brows and wide eyes of innocence.