Sometimes when I come across a writing prompt, what I end up with feels more like an excerpt of a larger story than a brief standalone. Today’s story is one such piece. Like some of my other flash fiction stories, this one is based on an image. I may come back to revisit this segment someday, we’ll see. In the meantime, enjoy!
“Meet me on the coast,” he pleaded.
Her eyes, chestnut and misty, gazed up to him. His blue eyes, full of soul and sorrow. His crooked yet perfect nose. His lips… oh, those lips that knew her so well. His square no-nonsense jaw. The still-healing scar on his right side courtesy of James “Shorty” McMahon. His left pinky, bent after a bad childhood bicycle accident. His legs, long as a relaxing Sunday. She needed to memorize every inch of him, head to toe. Once his train would leave the station, there would be no telling how long until she saw her Malcolm again.
“I’ll send for you, okay?” he promised, a glint of hope shining through his sadness. He offered her a smile, caressing her cheek. She smirked on the back of his gentle hand and nodded. He embraced her with his free hand, the other clutching his suitcase. He smelled of lemon and cedar; the bottle of cologne she had bought him for Christmas sat amongst the clothes and documents in that suitcase. They clung to each other for a long moment, the bustle of other travelers having no effect on them.
A voice rang out amongst the wild buzz of the cacophony, calling for the passengers of the 12:37 to Sacramento. He pulled away from her then, their eyes locking with shared grief. He gave her another smile. She could not return it.
“Meet me on the coast,” Malcolm repeated before placing a soft kiss on her forehead and running off to catch his train.
Rosemary stood there for the longest minute of her life. Her love was gone, and she was left without knowing if he would be safe. She breathed in deep, swearing she could still catch his cologne in the air, and made her way through the crowd toward the exit.
The driver waited in his black Imperial, windows down and the radio playing a jazzy tune. A cigarette smoked between his lips, the end glowing orange as his lungs pulled on it. So unlike her Malcolm, she thought, as he flicked it out of his window and drove down the boulevard. Edward loved his nicotine and alcohol. Malcolm only drank the occasional wine at dinner parties. Edward drove recklessly. Malcolm never received even a parking ticket. Edward slept around. Malcolm only had eyes for Rosemary.
“So, did he get to his train on time?” Edward asked. He took a sharp left turn that almost tossed her into his lap.
“Yes,” she said, straightening herself as she returned to her side of the seat. “You’re sure he’ll be safe? Shorty won’t be coming after him?”
“Yeah, Shorty ain’t even gonna know Malcolm left town,” he answered.
His words formed a darkness in the pit of her stomach. Edward, though a crass man, had never been lit as dangerous in her mind. Now she wasn’t so sure.
They drove through a tunnel, barreling fast toward the light. Rosemary prayed to come out of the tunnel and the deal safe. She prayed for Malcolm too.
Tyler Gohde 