Escape with KYM Writes flash fiction and short stories
Sharing snapshots of my writing through flash fiction and photo prompts
The landlord showed me the place: a basement apartment with no view, no windows, out of sight, invisible to the world. It was perfect. There wasn’t much room either, but that was okay. All I needed was a place to lay my head and drink myself into a stupor until things blew over...
I felt a soft tap on my shoulder as I flipped over the last burger on the grill. I didn’t need to turn around to know whose hand rested on my forearm. Her familiar touch broke my concentration instantly.
I tried hard not to watch Kay. I even looked away, pretending not to notice how she barely touched her food and avoided making eye contact with me as soon as she sat down at our table for dinner. But I failed at my attempt to ignore her when she suddenly pushed back her chair and scurried away from the table in a hurry.
I watch her hands pluck away on her acoustic guitar effortlessly, creating a beautiful melody that sounds both new and familiar. I never expected to see her again, but I recognize her as soon as she takes the stage. She has a face you don't forget.
I spotted Kay staring at us from the corner of my eye after Uncle Louie’s toast. Her eyes lingered on Jim for a moment before she looked away, dropping her eyes to her plate. I refrained myself from rolling my eyes at her, so I smirked and sipped on my champagne instead. She picked at her food, not the normal thing to do for a girl who always likes to eat.
It was strange to sit up in bed and smell the coffee coming from the kitchen and realize I wasn’t the first person up. I liked the idea of a hot cup of coffee waiting for me downstairs. But for so long it had been my kitchen and my kitchen alone...
I closed my eyes.The sound of people clinking glasses together was beautiful, almost like wind chimes. Why, then, did I feel so unbearably sad? When I opened my eyes and looked around the table I saw...
It took him exactly 72 hours to send her the first text. I MISS YOU. That was it. Three words. Nothing original. No apology. Not even “I Love You.”She spent the last three nights tossing, turning and waiting for the ache in her stomach to disappear. But it never did. She missed him too much.
The white brick house at the end of the block looked exactly the way he remembered it from his last visit over two years ago. He pulled into a parking space behind a mini-van a few houses down and turned off his car, attempting togo unnoticed. He knew exactly where to find her. The house on Park Ave had become her sanctuary after her grandmother passed away.