Dreams: A Trio of Flash Fiction Tales

Dreams:

  A Trio of Flash Fiction Tales

  By Joseph Geidel

  The Worst Possible Moment

  The space had been an upstairs bedroom, once upon a time, decorated in rich shades of crimson. Now a thick layer of dust turned the deep reds pink, and the fabrics in the room, from the heavy blankets on the decrepit mattress, to the upholstery on the overstuffed fainting couch, showed signs on vermin with frayed holes and ragged edges. A dressing table, its top a cluster of tiny glass bottles and delicate porcelain jars, jingled softly as desperate blows pounded on a distant front door. Stained glass panels decorating the light fixture, their lead loosened by the passage of long years, fell and shattered on the ancient carpet to signal those hysterical strikes finally overcoming the antique wood, and were succeeded by motes of dust from the cracked plaster, drifting languidly down, dislodged in time with frantic footsteps across the far entrance hall, up sagging stairs, and, growing ever more thunderous with their approach, down the passage before the two panicked figures, a young man and woman, burst into the room, slamming the door behind them.

  The man, a tall, lithe figure immediately searched for some means to block the door, and quickly ran to the dressing table, its collection of dusty containers falling to clatter noisily to the floor, as he shoved it against the entranceway. The young woman, a blond in her early 20s, first leaned back against the door, the gulps of breath she took devolving into sobs, before moving out of the man’s way to lean against the bed, struggling to stop the tears brimming up. Just as he brought the piece of furniture to scrape against the door frame, a relentless hammering, so rapid as to almost make the door shiver, began from its other side. The blows started up without warning, eliciting a squeal from the woman, pulling her from her moment of reflection. Whatever they had been running from had found them.

  “It’s still after us! What are we gonna do?!” Whether she was screaming to be heard over the drumming strikes from the other side of the door, or simply because she was near hysterics, was difficult to tell.

  “Help me find something else to push against that door; it won’t hold for long,” he was calm, maintaining some semblance of control over himself, but the sweat pouring off his brow revealed he was as close to breaking as she was. “Help me prop the mattress against it.”

  She stopped crying to aid him in his task. The ancient mattress flopped into place easily enough and, if it didn’t seem to do much to reinforce the structure, it at least served to muffle the constant strikes it was taking. She eyed him with a strange, pleading expression as she stepped back into the room’s center and he leaned on their makeshift barrier to regain his breath. “What?” he asked.

  “We don’t have much time, do we?” She looked down at her hands, nervously fiddling with the ring he had given her. He had intended to remain positive for her sake, but the hopelessness of the situation had become too obvious. He shook his head dejectedly. “Then I have to tell you something. I… I slept with Marv.”

  He blinked as though the room had gone out of focus. “Well,” his voice crackled from a suddenly dry throat, “Last night was insane, I guess you were bound to do some insane things. You must have figured I wasn’t coming back when I drew it off in the cemetery. I certainly didn’t think I’d make it. I guess it’s good Marv had something positive before… before…” His words trailed off.

  “He died,” She said the words calmly, the bleakness of circumstances driving the panic from her. “Before it got him. But… but I wasn’t talking about last night.”

  He had let his head slip into his hands, his fingers pressed against his eyes, when her statement snapped his gaze back to her face. “What are you saying?” She remained quiet, staring at her feet, and he came to stand in front of her. “Elsa? What are you telling me? That you and Marv…”

  “Were having an affair,” the words were barely louder than a whisper.

  The pounding suddenly renewed on the door, this time with the distinct addition of cracking wood. The dressing table jumped several inches away with the force of the blows before they slammed it back into place in desperation. Elsa began to cry, her back against the shaking barricade, and he had to grab her by the arm and pull her out of the way before the fainting couch, its feet screeching against the wood floor, could be pushed in place to fortify it.

  He sank to the floor, his back to the defensive structure, and looked at her leaning against the bed frame, quietly sobbing, a pathetic figure. “I can’t believe it,” he sighed, “I just can’t believe it. How did you… why did you…”

  “I wasn’t trying to hurt you, Howie,” she sniffled, “Neither of us were. We were trying to break it off.”

  “With Marv? He was my best friend,” he sounded defeated, broken.

  She crossed the room to kneel in front of him, clasping his hands with her own. “And he loved you. I loved you. I still do,” She insisted. She began to say more, but her voice caught as the top corner of the door gave way, and she stared with fear-wide eyes into the inky blackness beyond. “We don’t have much time left. I just want you to know, before we…” She shied away from the words, torn between the need to not give up hope and her need to make amends. “Before we die. I love you, I always have, and I always will.” The resolution she had found fell away as she laid her heart bare. Tears streamed down her face. “Please,” she pleaded, “Even if I don’t deserve it, even if you don’t mean it, tell me you forgive me.”

  He looked up, brought his eyes to meet hers. He smiled a little, and she grinned back through her tears.

  He drew breath, was about to speak, when the pounding stopped.

  They stood, stared at the furniture piled in front of the door, held each other. The only sound in the house was their pulse thumping roughly through their veins. Pressed together in dread, they felt each other’s heartbeat through their chests, and locked eyes. Incredulous questions of safety froze on their lips when the moaning began, the whole of the house reverberating with the low, inhuman tone. “I forgive you,” he whispered, and kissed her, their lips parting in the instant that the door, the barricade, the world exploded in at them, allowing the darkness outside to come rushing in.