Flash! Fiction 5 by Peter McMillan - HTML preview

Many, many years ago I liked that kind of writing. To my then rebellious and unsated mind, it seemed to get beneath the surface tension of everyday life and to grab hold of the large and the eternal.

Now, I just can’t stomach the stuff. It comes back up half-chewed, leaving a burning rawness in the back of my throat.

#

The buzzer interrupts my packing. I shout “Fred?” into the intercom, and Fred shouts back “Yeah.” I buzz the door open so that Fred can come up. Fred is my friend. He’s helping me sell off the contents of my little room. Fred can’t read, so I number the boxes. Fred told me once—out of the blue—that he’s never had indigestion.

First published in Danse Macabre du Jour November 23, 2015.