flash fiction


The rain had stopped just before he began to speak, his mouth opened and the thought came to the tip of his tongue, and there and then the rain halted around the pub where he sat looking into his beer. The car parking wound down its window and its radio came on playing the small town’s favourite song, and the leaves rustled along the edges of the car park. Umbrellas huge, swirled above the sheltering drinkers and the tarmac warmed colours colour began to change and tiny vibrations imperceptible to the human eye spread across the carpark of the pub. To the birds perched on the roofs of the very boring houses around the the back of the pub carpark the pub was becoming a blur through the invisible mist rising up from the tarmac, invisible to the naked human eye, but the smell, oh the smell, oh terrible. It could remind you of almost anything. Take you back to memories that don’t even belong to the ones you love. Sharon was straining over the opening of a small bag of Tuti Friutys for her darling little letter N when the smell filled her disgruntling nostrils. N was suddenly filled with a despair, dark slanting oblong eyes that could have been the dots of two lower case i’s filled with tears the shape of shopping. Sharon tried to pull back from this memory of course for the sake of her little letter N, the despair was like stone now, but there was no pulling out of the memory. No amount of love could overcome the dragging power of this memory like tide, one of those tides tied to the moon type of tides. Ones those ides kind of tides. Her N was fading now, the pulling of her hair, the futile attempt to spell her name out, oh the sound of guttural gasped air smeared over Sharon’s wet face. Her eyes far far away now could only see N, like you can see N.

What were you going to say? His mother asked and asked again, and asked again. He looked at his mother and smiled, as much as any one can with their tongue protruding from their mouth. Can you put it back in your mouth? She asked with a tremble in her voice. The thought slipped from his tongue and came flooding from his mouth. ‘I found the brochure you were looking for the other day, it was under the sofa.’

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