Flash Fiction by Joy Nash
Memory
“What’ll it be, miss? Sunset? Island vacation?” “Nothing like that. I want to browse the back room.” I can tell I’ve shocked him. “What? A nice girl like you?” I force myself to meet the salesman’s eyes. “I’ve got money. Cash.” I slide the bills across the counter before I can change my mind. The…
Read MoreTrain
The rhythm of the rails takes me back. “Next stop!” The conductor calls out the town I swore I’d never go back to. It’s the last place I want to be. But the brakes are squealing and my fare’s run out, so I grab my duffel and break my vow. I’m the only passenger getting…
Read MoreGone
I don’t believe in ghosts. I’ll tell you that right out. Woo-woo on the Internet? Spirit hunters on TV? It’s all a load of bullhockey. When you’re gone, you’re gone. My wife, now she’s another story. Martha’s the kind of person who looks for the Virgin Mary in her French toast. There’s nothing that woman…
Read MoreVisitor
It was after midnight when my ex-husband pounded on my door. I shouldn’t have answered. I know that. But I’ve always been an idiot where he was concerned. I opened the door and stared. Torn shirt, tie flung over one shoulder, face covered with cuts and scratches. “L-lauren.” Greg braced a forearm on the door…
Read MoreHotel
She stood near the bar, talking to a guy wearing a suit worth more than I make in a month. Her hair was wound up tight in a bun, except for one blond wisp trailing down the back of her neck. That rebel curl said everything. Lawyers everywhere. A big conference. The banquet had let…
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