Flash
Mike Hickman
Photo Credit: Paul A. Hernandez/Flickr (CC-by)
Right now, she can see three options. Over and over.
1) Linda stands silently on the porch as the officers circle the “why?” Because they need to know why, even with the “what” warm behind her and the “how” warmer still in her hand. “Drop the questions,” she tells them. “You can go back the way you came. You know I can’t.”
Or:
2) Linda has answered the questions so many times now. There is nothing they can ask that hasn’t already been asked. Of herself. All these very many nights out in the cold. So, as she stands there, as the officers approach, as she knows what they will have to ask, she determines she does not need to say another word. The weapon, after all, is still warm in her hand.
Or, with only the tiniest shift in emphasis:
3) Linda has answered the questions so many times now. So, as she stands there on the porch and the officers approach, she knows what they will have to ask. She determines not to say another word. The weapon, after all, is still warm in her hand.
Linda watches the moths skimming and rippling across the refracted porch light. Playing at freedom, the light recaptures them every time.
The other questions usually start around now. The questions that had first prompted her circumlocution. Set it in motion. Impelled her towards the porch light this night and every night.
Until they stop.
“What you doing out there? Where’s that beer you were gettin’?”
There are only so many ways it will turn out, Linda tells herself, as she turns back towards the house. Every time, every night, she finds herself standing out here, replaying what is yet to happen in all its potential eventualities. She cannot do this for much longer. So she allows Harold to call her back in. Just this once more.
At least until tomorrow.
Sometimes Doctor, always writer, Mike Hickman (@MikeHicWriter) is from York, England. He has written for Off the Rock Productions (stage and audio), including a 2018 play about Groucho Marx and Erin Fleming. Since 2020 he has been published in Agapanthus (Best of the Net nominated), EllipsisZine, the Bitchin’ Kitsch, the Cabinet of Heed, Sledgehammer, and Red Fez. Email: sirhenryatrawlinsonend[at]outlook.com