Hidden In Plain Sight…

Dearest Richard,

If you find this letter, then perhaps there is a chance for us after all.

Do you remember when and where I bought the clock? A bric-a-brac impulse in happier times.

Each hour the little man emerges from his arched door and chimes the hour amidst a tinny fanfare. I imagine he was important once, but like so many things, time marginalised him into an anonymous oddity. In that respect he and I are very much alike. I have placed this missive in his arms. Every sixty minutes he will offer you a way back, if you have the eyes to see and the heart to remember…and if not…

 

Written for: Friday Fictioneers

Love For Sale

The remaining tenant proved the hardest nut to crack. They went at him day and night – an assault of white noise and legal taunts.

Old before his time, he shuffled to the courthouse and made his last stand:

‘I proposed to my wife in this home, toiled for forty years to keep it, and found a widower’s solace here. Please…’

A quadrupled offer finally dislodged him.

He withdrew from the courthouse and disappeared into the crowd, re-emerging many thousands of miles away – a skip in his step.

His wife came to the chalet door. He showed her a cheque for an insane amount of money.

‘Suckers!”

 

Written for: Friday Fictioneers

Friday Fictioneers: Co-habitation

Every Wednesday, regular as clockwise, she received a bouquet – always from a different vendor, always paid for in cash. The accompanying notes were invariably clipped and enigmatic: ‘Soon,’ ‘Barely contained,’ and ‘Bursting with love.’

The radiant glow of a secret admirer quickly ascended through alarm and then angst as the messages morphed into possessive missives: ‘Claim you,’ ‘No one else but me,’ and ‘Destiny will not be denied.’

Nothing tied her to the shabby apartment. She made the decision to move out of harm’s way.

A few days later her possessions were stacked neatly in labelled boxes.

She froze.

Next to the boxes – a bouquet and a note: ‘I took the liberty…’

 

Written for: Friday Fictioneers

Henpecked Incorporated…

With Faithful Jenny deliberately scuttled there was no going back. The rip-tides in the bay were well renowned, and the lack of a body would be easily explainable.

He outstretched his arms and let go of everything – his materialistic trophy wife, the kids who hated him, the stock portfolio, the endless competing with other alphas – all expelled in a single glorious belch of freedom.

Hidden behind a rocky outcrop he encountered two other men – one standing in the mangled wreckage of a hang glider, the other kneeling by a bloated cadaver. He greeted them with nervous exhilaration and gave a false name as he’d been instructed. They reciprocated.

‘The likeness is uncanny,’ he commented, gesturing towards the cadaver.

”I paid extra. It’s a little macabre stealing from a morgue, but it’s not like anyone was murdered!’

A speedboat was moored at the tip of the archipelago. With a fair wind they’d be in Gibraltar by morning where a vagabond utopia awaited…

 

164 Words

Written for: Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers

Friday Fictioneers: Difficult Transition…

© Shaktiki Sharma

Why’s Mary wearing black? And why’s she got out the best china?

And why’s Tony got his arms around her?

Oi! Get your hands off my wife!

Oh yeah, that’s right – no voice – just a rudimentary system of squeaks and clicks.

Bloody reincarnation!

This doesn’t bode well. Just how bad a plumber was I?

Don’t freak out Brian!

OK…

She’s right there…

Your soul mate.

Tell her.

I’M HERE! I LOVE YOU!

No.

She’d squash you with her stiletto.

But maybe not…

Maybe our love transcends…

I’m gonna go for it!

DARLING!

Oh yeah.

Click, click, click, squeak…

 

Written for Friday Fictioneers